


"Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometime"

by ScareBearArt



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Bad Rick Grimes, F/M, Medical Procedures, Military, Not Canon Compliant, Protective Negan (Walking Dead), Sexy Time, Smut, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-06-18 05:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 67,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15479076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScareBearArt/pseuds/ScareBearArt
Summary: Marlowe stumbles into the Sanctuary and, despite herself, takes a job until she can find her reconnaissance companions.  Life is pretty good, but she longs to get home.  Just a few more days, and she'll likely be found by a rescue crew. In the meantime, she makes the most of her stay with the Saviors, treating it as a much-needed vacation from the classified work she keeps close to the vest.The rescue crew takes longer than expected, and Marlowe gets herself in the thick of a feud bloodier and more vicious than any Hatfield-McCoy strife.





	1. "The Most Tender Place in My Heart is for Strangers"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GettinGrimey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettinGrimey/gifts), [Sage8771](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sage8771/gifts).



> "Bradford" is a nod to actor Brad Dourif. The character is a bit...off. Dourif would be perfect.
> 
> Lots of fun. Hope y'all enjoy as much as I enjoy your works!  
> Cheers, friends.

ACT ONE: SANCTUARY

Marlowe stared at the tall man in the white coat. His high cheekbones, thin lips, and sneer reminded her of so many horror film villains.  “I said, do you have a syringe?  The laceration needs irrigation before I can work.”  She swept her arm across the exam table, letting a magazine, a plate with a sandwich, and eyeglasses fly to the floor. Grabbing the arm of a man with a long burn on his face, she led him to the table and helped him and the men lay Pornstache on it.  Pornstache was moaning, “ _Fuck...fuuuck,_ ” and grabbing at the hair of his thinning widow’s peak.  

While Marlowe was cutting off a leg of the dark-haired man’s pants, she was aware of another man coming into the room.  His voice boomed. “What the _fuck_ is going on in here?”

“Great,” Marlowe said, ripping the rest of the fabric off Pornstache’s leg.  “Extra help.” Barely looking at group of men in the room, she said sharply, “You all, _hold_ this man down. Hold him _tightly_.” Turning to Villainous Lab Coat, she said, “We’re in a good spot to do epinephrine; we have to get the bleeding down so I can see.”  

Dr. Creepy ran what Marlowe hoped was sterile saline over the wound, and began slowly sticking Pornstache with a small needle, working around the gash in his leg.  “Sorry… no epi. Got bupivacaine though.”

“Good deal.  Should work quickly and we can stitch without him squirming too much.”  Marlow put a firm hair on Pornstache’s chest and looked him in the eyes.  “Hey. I’m Dr. Marlowe. Hey? Sir? What is your name?”

Pornstache writhed on the table.  

Face Burn said, “Simon.”

“Simon?  Hey? I’m gonna stitch you.  We got you a numbing agent, but you gotta hold still.  Situation’s not ideal here.”

Simon nodded.  

Marlowe started prepping the equipment on a steel cart Lab Coat had been tossing into a plastic tub her.  

“Again,” said the loud, bearded man at Simon’s shoulder.  “What the _fuck_ is going on?"

Not looking up from pinching Simon’s thigh and determining that a quick and dirty baseball closure would be the best suturing option, Marlowe snapped, “Your friend here got into a tussle with some miscreants.  Got knifed in the leg.”

“Where _are_ these fuckers?” When Marlowe kept working, the bearded man turned to Face Burn. “Dwight?”

“Uh… this gal kinda stopped them. ‘Bout 7 of ‘em.”

Marlowe smiled, working quickly.  “Nothing beats and AR-15. Okay, maybe a Gatling gun, but that shit doesn’t fit in my rucksack.”

Simon squirmed.

Beard leaned over Marlowe.

“Back the fuck up,” Marlowe snapped. “You smell like leather and beans.”  She looked up at him. “Too many people in here. Be a good boy and step out if you’re not gonna place nursey and hold Simon _down_.”  Looking back at her work, she said to herself, “Jesus, this is like stitching a cat who dropped acid.  It’s just a flesh wound, not a fucking ripped out eyeball. Goddamn, wish I had gloves on.”

The bearded man leaned his body forward over Simon’s left hip, throwing an arm across the man’s abdomen.  “Simon, your _dick_ is almost in my face.  You want me to change your oil while you get quilted?”

Marlowe chuckled.

No one talked while she finished the eversion and closure.  She slipknotted and clipped the ends.

Lab Coat came up from behind and mumbled, “Well, I guess I can finish and dress this.  I mean, this _is my_ office.”  To Simon he said, “You need to have me look at this later.  Stay off it and keep it dry.”

Marlowe exhaled loudly.  Patting Simon’s shoulder, she said, “You did great, big guy.”  Glancing up at Leather Man, she said, “I feel cheated you didn’t blow him while I was working.  Not terribly sterile, but some cheap entertainment for me. Better than listening to Chuck Mangione on Pandora while I work.”

A short man with wild, blue eyes came into the room, letting the door slam behind him.  “Hey boss. Brought what you asked for.”

Leather guy took the bottle.  “Thank you, Bradford. Much obliged.”  Turning to Marlowe he said, “Pappy van Winkle.”  Gesturing to the other men to hold up Simon’s head, Leather put the bottle to the patient’s lips.  “That’s it, kid. You nurse on some of this.”

Simon coughed.

Leather laughed.  “Big balls, but man, always needs some Coke with this stuff.”  Leather lifted to the bottle to his own mouth as Marlowe snatched it.  

“Oh, happy day.  This is my brand.”  Taking a sip, Marlowe let out an exaggerated “ _Ah!_ ”  Winking at Leather, she said, “Much obliged… Nursey.”

***

Everyone had left the room except Marlowe and Leather.  The men had carried Simon up, ostensibly to wherever he stayed in this building.  Lab Coat had tagged along behind them, mumbling instructions and bemoaning not having any tetanus boosters.

Marlowe glanced around, happy to see her grey rucksack on a chair, Camelback water bottle, AR-15, and O.D. green field jacket on top.  

“Well, I guess I owe you, doll.”

Marlowe felt her eyebrows raise.  She decided since she was at a sizable disadvantage, being five feet tall, no body fat to spare, and being in a testosterone-smelling sausage factory, she kept her mouth shut.  She went with the soft-sell instead. Sticking out her hand, she said, “Marlowe. Glad to meet you.”

“Negan.”

“Hey, sorry I snapped at you.  Used to barking orders at oxygen thieves and mouth breathers in combat theatre.”

“What the fuck?”  Negan laughed. “You don’t look like a fucking soldier.  You look like you order lattes with organic coffee beans shit out the asses of yoga teachers.”

Marlowe couldn’t help herself; she rued her lack of poker face and laughed.  “Uh. No. It’s organic _green tea_ with non-dairy milk, extra vanilla.  And I don’t look like a Joe ‘cause I keep my chest candy on my Class A’s.  I don’t dig out the medals unless I have to. I do, however, keep my dog tags and ranger panties on at _all_ times.” Marlowe winked at him.

Negan smirked.  “I _bet_ you do.”  He reached out to Marlowe’s neck, and she stepped back instinctively. “I don’t bite. Checking out the chain.”

Marlowe pulled the beaded aluminium dog tag chain out of her fitted, tan tee shirt, letting Negan hold the tags, thumbing the rubber around them.

“Marlowe, Clementina,” he read, pronouncing the name Clemen- _ty-_ nuh.

“It’s Clemen- _teen-_ uh.  It’s Italian.”

“Your hair is too light to be Italian.”

“‘Cause _I’m_ not Italian.  Just my name. I’m like, Slavic, Scandinavian, and Asian or something.”

“Bunch of numbers…”  

“My D.O.D. number.”  

He stared at her.  

“Department of _Defense_?”  

Negan continued, “AB poz...Blood type? Buddhist.  You worship a fat, bald Chinese guy?”

Marlowe rolled her eyes.  “Actually you’re thinking of the Chinese _Budai_ . He’s like… he’s like a Buddhist saint or something.  The ‘laughing Buddha.’ Not _the_ Buddha.”  

“That is some weird shit, regardless.”

“No weirder than the more ubiquitous religions in this nation.”

“And ten-dollar words.  Girl, you...are… _smart._ Daddy like.”  Negan smiled broadly.

 _Ugh,_ Marlowe thought.   _This dude needs his ass beat._ “So who’s in charge here?”  She figured she already knew the answer, but needed confirmation.

Negan stepped back, arms outstretched, and leaned back, letting his hips jut out.  He looked like a man showing off a new Armani suit. “You’re looking at him.”

***

The room Marlowe’s things were taken to wasn’t bad.  She hadn’t slept in a bed for weeks. The showers, even if they were as cold as Dwight insinuated, were a treat she was looking forward to as much as the peanut butter and homemade strawberry jam sandwich she’d eaten in Negan’s office earlier.  Much better than the vegetarian MREs she had been living off.

“How many goddamn toothpaste tubes do you _have_?” Negan asked, standing behind her.

“Well,” Marlowe turned to him.  “I don’t rightly care if it _is_ the end of the world. Good oral hygiene staves off many other medical issues.”

Negan chuckled.  “You said ‘oral.’”

 _This guy is the_ leader?   _Get the fuck out.  If he leans back like that one more time, I’m going to knock his teeth down his throat._

“So old Doc Carson doesn’t seem to like you.  Too bad, ‘cause I think you should take over the medical shit here.  Be his boss. I mean, I don’t trust doctors, but I like you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.  My cousin Denny went into a hospital for his heart.  Didn’t come back out.”

“Sorry.”

“Yup.”  Marlowe heard Negan take a breath.  “So how ‘bout taking this proposition?”

“Can’t. Thanks.  Gotta head out in the morning and continue to look for my team.”  Marlowe glanced at her rucksack. “We got...separated.”

“‘Team.’ Odd phraseology.  Not ‘group.’ Not ‘friends.’   _Team._ ”  Negan furrowed his brows and looked down at Marlowe.  “What _are_ you doing out here?”

“Traveling.”

“Don’t you fucking lie to me.”  He pointed a gloved finger at her face.  “That… that I _will not_ abide.”

Marlowe straightened her posture and drew back her shoulders.  Looking Negan in the eyes and standing inches from him, she said, “I’m a straight shooter.  You’ll fucking forgive me if I lack transparency right now. You’ve been hospitable, but loose lips sink ships, and I’ve got Joes out there.  Yeah, we’re not exactly a ragtag bunch of survivors who pick up strays along the way. But I like to keep certain things close to the vest, _amigo._  Now, I appreciate the food and bed, but…”

Negan relaxed his posture, putting his hands on hips.  “Well, excuse the fuck outta me.” He tone was soft, contrary to his words.  He put his hands out, in a gesture of surrender. “I _owe_ you.  You saved my best men’s asses.  You busted in here and took over. You got some giant, pendulous balls, gal, coming in here and barking orders.  You got Doc Carson over in the corner, pissing himself, tail up his ass. I like you. Like your spirit.”

The two looked at each other for several beats.

  
“Tell you what.  You stay on for a while and my men will help you look for your guys.  You help Doc with all these...doctor things. Whatever the fuck he does all day.  He stops whining to me that he’s overworked. You get food and board. Hell, you can punch your ticket in Dick Town all day.”  Negan’s eyes went over Marlowe’s body. “You probably haven’t gotten laid in a while. A man can tell. You’re all hard edges but you’re puttin’ off steam like granny’s pressure cooker valve. _Click click click click_.”

Marlowe put her hand on Negan’s chest and batted her eyelashes.  “Oh, sugar,” she said in her best Blanche duBois voice. “I reckon you’re right.”  She slid her hand between his pecs, trying not to enjoy feeling the muscle tone beneath his skin. Suddenly pushing him toward the door, moving him as he was taken off guard, Marlowe said, “But I must retire now, sailor.  I’ll get my soft, warm ticket punched some other time.”

Negan’s mouth opened and his eyes widened.  He backed out of the doorway, staring at Marlowe, but giving no resistance.

Marlowe shut the door, locked it, and slid a dresser in front.  Now to see how much sleep she’d get in this settlement that seemed to be more “McHale’s Navy” than _Full Metal Jacket_.  

***

   

 


	2. “Where the Sun Don’t Ever Shine”

Several days into her stay, any thought Marlowe had of this community, this “Sanctuary,” being run by a group of wisecracking frat boys was shattered at dawn.  She woke up with a dream about her boot camp commander yelling still fresh in her mind.

The cheap aluminium bed frame creaked as she stretched.  Pulling her long hair into a quick bun, she secured it with one of the ponytail holders she kept on her wrists.  At the door, Marlowe heard voices, and boots stepping quickly down the factory hallway.

 _“How many?”_ Negan’s voice boomed and echoed through the corridor.  

Marlowe climbed on top of the chest of drawers at the door and listened, remembering how close her new quarters were to Negan’s office.  

“Fuck. _Twenty-four?_  It’s fucking Hilltop.”

Other male voices spoke, but Marlowe could not make out their words.

“I don’t fucking care.  Where is Dwight? What? _Who?  Who let them in?_ ”

Marlowe waited until the voices passed and a door she reckoned was Negan’s slammed shut.  She cleaned herself up, ready to grab breakfast and join Dr. Carson at his infirmary.

***

“Tell me again why you’re here.  Are you Hilltop? Kingdom? Don’t fuck with me.” Negan leaned across his desk at Marlowe, who was flanked by two men and handcuffed behind her back.  

“I don’t know those groups.”  Marlowe spoke calmly, but could feel her stomach twisting.

Negan sighed and put his feet on the desk.

Marlowe looked around the office.  Several ivory statuettes peppered the bookshelves and one end table.  A print of _Napoleon Crossing the Alps_  in a faux-gold frame hung on the wall to her right.  Ostentatious. Telling.

As if reading her mind, Negan’s gaze went to the painting.  His eyes staying there, he said, “You’ll talk.”

Spinning his legs off the desk, he pointed a gloved finger at Bradford, who was idly dusting a bookshelf with a pink feather duster.  “Bradford?”

The duster moved back and forth in front of a collection of _Reader’s Digest Condensed Books_.  

“Bradford!”

Bradford stopped dusting and cocked his head toward his boss like a dog awaiting orders.  “Yes, Boss?”

“Take our little guest to meet the dragons in the moat.”

In Bradford’s hand,the feather duster spun slowly, like a ballerina on the press-board shelf.  Bradford leaned forward, as if studying it, his oily reddish-blond curls covering his face. “Oh, delightful, sir.  A treat. Your mind is vast, sir. You’re a poet warrior. I am but a little man.” He giggled. “A little man.   _I should have been a pair of ragged claws,_ ” he giggled again, “ _scuttling across floors of silent seas._ Seas.  C. _‘C’ stands for cookie, that’s good enough for me. ‘_ C’ is for cat and cross and crucify.  ‘C’ is for cunt and cocksucker.” The wild-eyed  man turned to Marlowe and grinned, bearing murky, soiled-around-the-gums teeth.  “And ‘C’ is for ‘Clementina,’ _crooked_ and _cut_ open and then _charred_ in the fire. _Cooked._ I will eat your flesh…”

Negan yelled, “Shut the _fuck_ up!  Just take her.”

Marlowe felt Negan’s men lifting her out of the chair.

At no point after Marlowe spoke, did Negan so much as look in her direction.

***

Marlowe was led out a back door to a part of the compound’s perimeter.  The ground was dusty and void of any vegetation. She was cuffed to a pipe attached to the red brick wall.   Her heart sank when she saw awkward footprints going around the yard. Canted tracks. Footprints of slow-moving feet that _dragged_.

So many tracks.  

Bradford went to a corner of the chain link fence.  Addressing the men surrounding Marlowe, he raised his hand up, making his body a Y-shape.  “Boys! The floor show is about... _to begin_!”

The men hurriedly stepped back into the compound, slamming the heavy door.  Bradford walked slowly over to Marlowe, carefully lining his footsteps like a man on a tightrope, arms outstretched.  Looking at the ground he said, “I have the keys. I have the _keys,_ Clemmie.  Only _I._ ”  He stopped inches from Marlowe.  He put his hands on her cheeks and squished her face into fish lips. “Oh, look at you, child.  Gorgeous skin I would _die_ for. I would _wear_ this face.”  Dropping one hand, he squeezed her face below the cheekbones and rocked her head back and forth.  Synchronized with the movement he spoke, “Oh… my… girl… Don’t… you… worry. Don’t… lie… to… daddy.  Tell...me…” He grabbed her hair with both hands, leaned in so Marlowe’s face was covered with his greasy hair.   Dropping his voice at least two octaves, he said, “Tell me, where will you sleep tonight?”

Bradford walked back to the corner, calling, “ _Children!  O, children!  Daddy is coming for you!_ ”  He turned keys into padlocks and unchained the gate.  “Where are my hungry little ducklings? You mustn’t torture a duckling.  They must be fed often. And well!”

Marlowe began to hear the moaning.  It only sounded like one, but then she realized the sounds were getting closer.  There were several. She felt her heartbeat pick up; it began to pound in her chest.  Her breath became shallow and she could hear it. Her lower lip twitched. Her eyeballs grew warm as they began to form tears.  She watched the dead scuffle into the yard, past Bradford. At once, she wanted them to keep going, leaving him unharmed, yet she dearly wanted the satisfaction of seeing his throat ripped out. Marlowe knew from memory a proper creeper neck bite would release a jugular spigot.  The blood would come out in a quick flow, dark, smelling of copper.

The dead continued past Bradford.   _Professional courtesy?_ Marlowe wondered why Wild Eyes was overlooked, like a savanna baobab tree near lions slaughtering an antelope.  Inconsequential to the scene. A bystander.

Bringing her mind back, it was time for strategy.  No fucking way did she live through weeks of a recon mission through Mad Max-ville just to become scrapple for a bunch of the dead.  Why the fuck wasn’t her microchip tracker working, anyway? Search and rescue should have found her. Considering who was leading S&R, they were _days_ late.

Marlowe pulled her body weight forward, trying to detach the slender pipe from the cinder blocks. She tried motivating herself.   _I’m at PT, dragging tires. Work those back muscles._ Her stomach rumbled.   _Okay, I’m at DFAC, waiting for lunch.  And there’s pie._ The pipe squeaked impotently.  No budging. Dead getting closer.  The groaning sounds were pushing Marlowe’s adrenaline up.   _Stay quiet?  Fuck no; they’ve already spotted me._

They were coming across the yard, eye sockets wide, some with hands reaching in her direction.  Out of the corner of her eye to the right, she saw the door open. _They’re coming back for me.  They’ve had their fun, now they want me to talk._ Marlowe let her breath out, relaxing her spine. Glancing quickly, she saw a little child coming out of the door.   _Fuck._

“K _id,_ ” she whispered, “ _Go back in.  Go. Back. Inside._ ”

The sun was in Marlowe’s eyes, but she could see the child, probably around four years-old, long brown hair, stumbling on the step into the yard.  The girl, she assumed by the dress, had dirty arms and legs. She probably played in this dirty yard. Probably disobeying a watchful, nervous parent’s rules.  

“ _Get back inside!  For_ fuck’s _sake_ ,” Marlowe hissed through her teeth.  

The girl was getting closer to Marlowe, who knew she could not protect herself, let alone the child.  She could feel the girl now next to her, the tiny fingers tugging at her cargo pants. Marlowe looked down at the unbrushed, brown hair.  At the parted center of her hair, the little girl’s scalp was too grey to be living tissue.

The girl’s hands were at her sides.  

Marlowe gasped.  She knew the tugging was coming from tiny teeth.

“Oh god.”  Marlowe lifted her left leg, balancing on the right one, the one with the girl on it, gnawing quietly, like a baby at her mother’s breast.  Marlowe torqued her hip to the right, pivoting the ball of her foot, slowly, as not to disturb the child.

 _Crack._ Marlowe’s left boot connected with girl, launching her toward the back door.  

The dead were now fewer than three yards from Marlowe.  At least ten of them. Three of them broke the cavalcade and headed toward the little girl, toward the sound she had made hitting the brick wall.  Their growling gargles made Marlowe’s spine crawl.

Marlowe jumped at a popping sound. _Firecrackers?_ The pops were followed by cracking and splattering of the deads’ craniums.   _Pop pop._ Two dead hit the ground, falling a foot in front of her.   _Pop.  Pop. Pop._ Rhythmic.  Gunfire.

The noise stopped and Marlowe’s ears rang.  She jerked away automatically as hands grabbed her.  

“Don’t fight me, girl.”

_Simon._

Marlowe began sobbing.  She felt Simon uncuffing her.

“I’m sorry, honey.  Didn’t want you to be ketchup-flavoured potato chips for these rotters.” Simon put an arm around Marlowe’s shoulders and pulled her face into his torso.  “Shh. Hey. Had to make us even, right?”

Marlowe kept her face buried in Simon's grey shirt as they went in, too afraid to look down and see the tiny corpse.

***

“So, is this Rammstein?”

Dwight leaned over with the plate of food, handing it to Marlowe.  “Nah. Rammstein’s like, industrial or goth or some shit. This is Deicide.  Death metal. You’re lucky. There’s a redneck in the cell down the hall stuck with some bubble gum pop shit.  Some girl singing it.”

“At least there’s no discernible words to get stuck in my head.  Ah,” Marlowe said, scanning the food. “No meat. Thank you again.”

Dwight laughed.  “I’ve told you for two days now we don’t give prisoners meat.  That’s saved for the Saviors.” Dwight squatted down and traced the painted white brick wall next to him.  

“Pilgrims.”

“Huh?” Dwight stopped tracing the wall.  

“I think of you all as ‘pilgrims.’  You’ve all traveled and convened here.  New start. New world.” Marlowe took a forkful of green beans. “Yum.  Green and fresh. Not soggy and coated with butter and salt. Better than most casual dining restaurants.  Okay,” she took another bite and spoke around the food, words muffled, “ _any_ restaurant.”

Dwight laughed.  “You’re always so positive.  You know what people call you around here?  ‘Sunny.’ Even Dr. Carson likes you, despite himself.”

Marlowe ate a few bites while Dwight slid down and sat in the doorway.  “Oh, speaking of,” Dwight looked back toward the hallway. “Your... _vitamins_ ...are here.  Wouldn't want you to _catch_ anything from any of these guys.”  He tossed a small bottle to Marlowe.

The label said “multivitamin” and “formulated for women.”   She opened the bottle and spilled some out onto her hand. Most were pink; several of them were white.  All tiny.

She realized what they were.

“Yeah.  Doc said only take the white ones the last four days of the month.  I don’t know.” He looked at the floor, like he had committed an illicit act.  

“Shit, will I really need these?”

“Um, he gives them to most of the women here.  Especially the ones closest to, uh, our boss. You know, to keep them...uh, _healthy_ .  Some get vitamin _shots_ .  One girl I know has something he put up in _there._ ” Dwight gestured his finger in front of his crotch.  “Or, if that don’t work, he has been known to have to dig around in there. Do some cleanin’.”

Marlowe’s eyes widened.  That was a side to mealy-mouthed Emmett Carson she did not anticipate.  Her respect for the man increased.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”  Dwight was a soft-spoken man who rarely made eye contact with Marlowe.  She always sensed he was a hatchet man under duress. Blackmail?

He was the first of the group she had encountered.  She’d shot a geek who was barreling down on him in the woods, ready to chomp.  Right after the shot, Marlowe had watched his group get jumped by some punks who demanded their goods and weapons.  One of the punks saw her and began pantomiming unbuckling his belt, telling Dwight and crew he was going to take her along with their weapons.  

_“Girl, you don’t even know how to work that rifle.”_

Marlowe had plugged him in the chest before he could step closer.    

Dwight had been quick to follow her orders to get his group, and a wounded Simon, to safety.  Not an alpha, but a loyal man. Her gut told her he was trustworthy. Why the burn on his face?  It was healed. One, two years old at the very least. She could tell by the wrinkling and pattern it was perhaps a hot metal burn.  Maybe he had worked at this factory before it had become a refuge for the living. Nothing more nefarious, surely.

“You’ll be out soon, I suspect.  Negan’s prolly forgot about you since all this other stuff is going on.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.  We’ve had some trouble with another camp.  The good news is,” Dwight looked up at her and smiled.  “I done took up the crossbow as a hobby.”

***

That evening, Marlowe laid on her back, counting the proverbial, medical, sheep in her head. “Calcaneus… capitate… carpal… cervical…”  At least the death metal in her cell had stopped earlier, allowing her to try and sleep. 

The sound of footsteps in the hallway.  Probably going to her neighbor. Several times a day she heard men going that way.

“Clavicle… coccyx… Distal phalanges… shit. No.  Cuboid? Ethmoid. Femur?” She yawned. Finally.  On the worst nights, sometimes she got all the way to the ulna bone.  If she could name all two-hundred and six bones and was still awake, she would just start thinking of movie titles by genre.  

The doorknob turned.  The light hurt her eyes.  

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel.  Let down that beautiful long hair of yours.  Your prince wants to climb into your tower.”

Negan.  _Joy._    

“Oh, honey.  Did I wake you?  Sorry, baby. Gettin’ home from work late.  Today was a _productive_ day!  My, my.”  Leaning back again, his version of laughing at his own jokes.  Marlowe reckoned he was the type, pre-Plague, who brought a guitar to parties and casually “knew a song or two” in order to use douchebaggery to get laid.  

Marlowe sat up.  “It’s hard to sleep after almost becoming creeper food.”

Negan held up a gloved hand.  A man Marlowe vaguely recognized brought a metal chair into the doorway.  Negan sat without acknowledging the man, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap.  Job interview posture. “I...am… _sorry._ I do not hurt women, and I sure as _shit_ should not have trusted Bradford.  That is on _me._ That motherfucker is creepy as _shit._ I should have known I couldn’t trust him for a simple task.  I only wanted to scare some candor out of you, not have him dog-and-pony show his lame brain friends.  That was not cool. No sir.”

Marlowe stared at him.  She stood up, though barely taller than he, even sitting in his chair.  “Well, fantastic, Sheriff.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Thanks for the apology.”

“Do I detect some sarcasm?”  He smiled, teeth too white to believed.  His dimples deepened.

“I don’t do sarcasm.  You’re probably detecting a smidge of pissed-offedness, combined with days of death metal hell.” Marlowe stepped toward him and leaned down, making them face-to-face.  “I’m a delicate little flower who needs water and sunshine. It’s how I keep my perky disposition.”

“‘Delicate’ ain’t a word I’d use to describe you.  Well, physically. You do have the wrists of a little bird.  And your feet don’t look big enough to hold you up.” Negan looked at her bare feet.  “They’d be sexier with some red toenail paint on them.”

“Mauve.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m agreeing.  But I prefer the colour mauve.  Lack of nail polish has certainly been a real bitch during this apocalypse.”

Negan laughed.  “Well, enough chit chat. Let’s get you back to your room.”

“That’s it?  Wham, bam, thank you ma’am?”

“I mean, fuck, woman.  You wanna stay in here?”  Negan stretched his arms out.  “It ain’t the Hilton.”

Marlowe felt her eyebrows raise. “What the fuck.  I’m not looking this biker boy gift horse in the mouth.”

Negan stood and took Marlowe’s arm.  “‘Biker boy?’ Is that all I am to you?  A piece of ass?”

“Oh no.  So much more.  A pain in my ass, for starters.”

Walking into the corridor, Negan addressed Simon and the others.  “See, boys. She...is… _allowed_ to speak to me as such.  Y’all aren’t. You know why?”

The men looked at each other.

“Do you think it’s just this bod?  The long hair? The curves? No. It’s these big ol’ balls, gentlemen.”

Marlowe made contact with Simon and rolled her eyes.  He smiled, his body rocking with silent laughter.

“Let’s eat a late dinner together, darling. I am sure as shit keyed up after today.  Need a drink and some winding down.”

Negan stopped and looked down at Marlowe, as always, standing well into her personal space bubble.  “Let’s just say I hit a couple of grand slams. It was... _eye popping_.”

***

“Not looking a gift horse in the mouth is exactly right,” Emmett Carson said as he re-stocked a bandage shelf.  “The best thing to do with that man is to keep quiet and fly under the radar. But small blessings, he’s not a grudge holder.”

Marlowe was on a step stool, wiping dust off the glove ceiling light cover.  “So he just decided I’m not a threat and let me go? Got a much nicer room, too.  Window. Painted dresser. Looks like a repurposed breakroom. Sink, cabinets. _Houseplants._ I mean, it’s decorated.  It’s the same floor as Negan’s.”

“Hmm.  I know.”

The two continued to work for a few minutes in silence.

“We hung out last night for bourbon and some random questions about music.”

Emmett chuckled.  “Music?”

“Yeah.  Dude just took me up to his office and started prattling on about AC/DC versus Black Sabbath.  At least we both agreed we’re not into Aerosmith.”

“Sounds delightful.”

“Surprisingly, he’s into blues.  We had a stretch of conversation about Muddy Waters, Louis Jordan... Howlin’ Wolf.  I had figured him for a Nickelback fan.”

“Oh dear.”

“I suppose there’s some drama going on with other communities in the area?”  Marlowe had moved to one of the windowsills to dust.

“I’m really not at liberty to talk to you about any of that.  None of us may. _His_ orders.  A very odd request, and a unique one.”

“Still doesn’t trust me.”

“Hmm.  Perhaps.”

“Okay, so generalities.  Gossip is at least some form of entertainment. Their mini global economy isn’t working?”

“Ha.  ‘Global economy’?  We’re the _mafia_ , Dr. Marlowe. We’re no longer living in the days of suburbs and gallerias.  Oh no. We’re in constant war. Feast or famine. Things have become confused.  The necessity of living under martial law. _Negan’s_ law.  With him, it’s the temptation to be a god. To be _the_ God.  ‘ _By Myself have I sworn, The word is gone forth from My mouth in righteousness, and shall not come back. That unto Me every knee shall bow, every tongue shall swear.’_  This is why we are all forbidden to speak frankly with you, my dear.”  Emmett winked at her. Continuing his monologue, he said, “There is strife in every human heart.  Conflict between sainthood and living as a sinner.  Virtue does not always triumph. Often our baser urges win.  Lincoln admonished his constituents to be brethren, not to become enemies.  But here we are, in a society where evil has slaughtered the ‘better angels of our nature.’”

Marlowe sat down on the step-stool, clutching the dust rag tightly.

Emmett walked to her and patted her shoulder.  “My friend, you’ve seen it yourself, being in the service.  There are two of us, a dichotomy in us all. There’s the one that loves,” he said, looking out of the infirmary window.  “And the one that kills.”

***

 

   

 

 

 


	3. “Sun in the Sky, You Know How I Feel”

“She’s still within the normal range for milestones. Aren’t you, Biscuit?”  Marlowe held the baby closer, smelling her thick patch of dark blond hair. “You have _got_ to stop putting stuffies and pillows in her crib though, friend.”

The man scratched his beard.  “Her mama would have known what to do.”

Marlowe laid the baby down on the exam table.  “Hey, you are an amazing daddy. This girl is going to be spoiled.”

“I bet your daddy spoilt you.”

Marlowe took a deep breath.  “Hmm. Well. I suppose that’s what dads do, I hear.”

“Did he buy you a car and all that?  My wife’s daddy did that.”

“I’m sure that’s part and parcel of being a daddy's girl.”  Marlowe felt around the baby’s diaper line.  “Everything feels normal. Great reflexes, motor function.  Babbles. Gracie tries to sit up unassisted. Be careful; she’s going to start rolling off things soon.  I’m sure she’s already able.”

“You’re real good with the kids here.  Did you…” The man lowered his voice to a whisper.  “Did you, uh, have...you know, before all this?”

“No.”  Marlowe bit sharply into her upper lip.  

***

Carson had taken the day off, ostensibly to read a novel from the library room.  Marlowe was happy to have the surgery to herself for once. It had been quiet all day, except for looking at the infant.  She enjoyed the exam. Carson had warned her this father would be bringing his daughter often. _“Nervous new parent, you know the type.”_

Marlowe leaned over and touched her boots, stretching her legs.  She had brought a chair cushion from her room to the infirmary. Sitting on the floor under the window, Marlowe took a deep breath.  She couldn’t stop thinking about the rescue team. _Where_ were _they?_

Straightening her back against the wall, she crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap.

Focusing on her breath, Marlowe let her shoulders relax into the wall.  She chanted Tibetan under her breath, _“Om mani peymey hoom…”_

Letting her errant thoughts go by like sticks floating away in a stream, Marlowe took a deep breath. Each time the thought of _when_ she would be found by her team nibbled at her mind, she came back to her breath.  She felt the air move into her nose, and down into her body and back. She tried to picture the Medicine Buddha:  blue body and loose robes, holding a pot of nectar in his lap. The nectar of medicine. A balm for her weariness and despair. 

***

Marlowe was only vaguely aware of the door opening, like hearing a neighbor’s car door shut two houses down.  Inconsequential.

“Well, looks like I caught you sleeping on the fucking job.”  Negan pulled up a chair in front of Marlowe, straddling it backwards.  

“Meditating,” Marlowe said, looking up at him.  “It’s like a smoke break.”

“I think a _lunch_ break is in order.”

Marlowe got up from the floor and sat on the edge of the exam table. She stared at the man in front of her.  He was smiling at her, his green eyes accentuated by the deep laugh lines around his eyes.

“You staring at my scar or something?”

“Excuse me?”

“The line,” he pointed a gloved finger to his cheek.  “Got it from breaking up a bar fight. Some gal wasn’t too happy with me.”

“Hmm.  It’s barely noticeable under the scruff.”

Negan widened his eyes.  “You don’t dig the fur?” He ran his left hand over his chin and pulled at the bottom of his beard.

Marlowe smiled on one side of her mouth, despite herself.  “No, I like it. Suits you.” She stretched her arm out to touch it.  Thinking better of it, she withdrew her hand just as quickly.

Negan caught her hand and held it near his jaw.  He looked intensely at Marlowe and lowered his voice.  “Nothing wrong with checkin’ out the goods.”

The two stared at one another for several breaths.  Marlowe felt her chest rise higher and her spine tingle.  “Your hair is a bit too slicked back. You look like a cast member from _Grease._ ”

Negan finally gently dropped her hand and broke the gaze.  “Lunch. Right.” Walking over to a small metal table, he said.  “So I brought us a to-go order.”

Marlowe walked over to him and said, “Okay, thanks, but…”

“Hey, hey,” Negan pointed to the door.  “I _already_ hung out the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on this room.  You are _closed for lunch_ .  Hot diggity dog.  You get to eat with _me._ ”

***

Marlowe giggled as Negan put a halved strawberry over his tongue and stuck it out at her.   _“Doth my tongue looth infecthed to you?”_

“Yes,” Marlowe said, with fake-seriousness, furrowing her eyebrows.  “Mr. Negan, I haven’t seen _seeds_ on a tongue.  Have you, by chance, been seeing a girl named ‘Strawberry Shortcake?’”

Negan swallowed the fruit.  “Jesus, that’s gross.” He smiled, dimples deepening.  “That little doll from the ‘80s? Smelled like girl shampoo?  My Luce…” He turned away from Marlowe, his voice lowered. “I _knew_ a gal... I knew someone who had that doll.  Kept it ‘til she was grown. Kept all her stuff in case she did, you know, the mom thing.”

Another long silence.  Marlowe picked at her berries, running her tongue over teeth in case she had blackberry seeds in them.  

“Lunch is amazing, Negan.  I cannot thank you enough. It’s been forever since I’ve had peanut butter.  And berries are my favorite.”

“Figured.  Dwighty-boy told me that you weren’t much for a meat and potatoes girl.”

“You’re not going to lecture me about protein?”

“Damn, fuck no.  You do _you_ , right?  And,” Negan leaned over the metal table and snatched a berry from Marlowe’s plate.  “You’re the most fucking grateful person in this joint.”

“Help yourself there, Mr. Farmer’s Tan.”

“Huh?”

“You took off your glove.”  Marlowe gestured to Negan’s hand.

“Ah, yeah.  I only wear it to use my girl Lucille.”

“The bat?”

“The.  Bat.  My Excalibur.”

“Nice tan line.”

“I know.  Looks like I got a hand transplant from Count Dracula, it’s so pale.”  Negan popped two thinly-sliced carrot sticks under his upper lip and lifted his arms up.  “I _vant_ to suck your blood.”  

“Oh, boy,”  Marlowe theatrically threw the back of a hand over her forehead.  “I cannot take you _anywhere._ ”

Negan stood up, grabbing Marlowe’s arm.  “Tell me you do not want some of this.” He pulled her out of her seat and held her closer.  “We can be immortal and all that shit. Night life. Turn into bats and fly over this dump. Head for Romania or whatever the fuck.”

Marlowe put a hand to his chest.  “That sounds fab. Some days I can’t get my shit together until night, anyway.”

“Well, fuck, darlin’.  It’s settled, then. How many bites does it take? One? Two?”  

Negan put his hands on Marlowe’s back and his mouth near her neck. Marlowe, feeling his breath on her skin, felt herself awaken deep below her abdomen.  Her breath quickened. She couldn’t remember feeling this turned on in ages. “I think,” she whispered. “I think it’s three.”

“Hmm?”

“Three bites.”  Marlowe was out of breath.

Negan suddenly pulled back and and snatched a cloth napkin from the table.  He held it in front of him.

“The hell are you doing?”

“Hiding my giant hard-on, if you must know. Had a moment of uncharacteristic chivalry. You ought to feel special.”

“You are so fucking romantic.”

Negan winked at her.  “Tell me you didn’t get a lady boner?”

“Jesus-fucking-Christ.  You are _such_ a frat boy.  Do you haze your guys as well?”

“Maybe.”

Negan and Marlowe sat back down and started eating again.  

“Mmm, hot-fucking- _damn_.  No fucking wonder you like peanut butter and homemade preserves so much.”  Negan licked his lips.

“Nothing beats it.”

“So tell me, is there a  _Mister_  Clementina Marlowe?”

“No.”

“Hmm.  I have got to say, I’m surprised.”

“Why?”

“You’re a catch.  Like a fucking fifty-pound white catfish.”

“Hmm.  Is there a Missus No-First-Name, or is it No- _Last-_ Name, Negan?”

“Yup.  Got me about five of ‘em.”

Marlowe laughed.  “You _wish_.”

Negan held up a blackberry and squinted at it, reminding Marlowe of the medical examiner she used to work alongside, when he was holding up body parts to the light.  “So how did you handle all this... _world ending_?  How did you make it?”  He kept his eyes on the berry.

“Kept my calm. Crisis mode. Go, go, go.  Work. Supervise. Give orders.” Marlowe mindlessly arranged her blackberries into a circle. “One night on a hospital bookshelf, I found a novel from a mystery series.  I started reading it to pass the time. The dust jacket said the author and his wife, a mystery writer as well, lived with their four kids in California. All of the sudden, I wondered where the author was. Where they dead?  I didn’t know these people, but just the thought that I had no way of knowing what they were going through… the fear, the uncertainty. Were their kids okay? Did they make it? I wept. I wept until my eyes were swollen and I’d blown my nose so much I couldn’t breathe well enough to even sleep.  I think that was the point all this stopped seeming so surreal.” Silence held the air for a time. Marlowe continued, “That’s when I stopped being _me_.  I’m someone else, now.  Someone new.”

“Well, shit,” Negan whispered.  “I reckon we all had that moment when we transformed.  You know the story of the man who turns into a cockroach?”

“Kafka?   _The Metamorphosis_?”

“Yeah.  Had to read that in college."  Negan recited, “ _‘Was he an animal, that music could move him so? He felt as if the way to the unknown nourishment he longed for were coming to light.’_  He’s turned into this ugly, hateful monster, but he’s still drawn to beauty and art.”

“That’s unexpected.  I honestly didn’t realize you were so cultured.”

“Like _buttermilk_ , baby.”  Negan held a finger to his lips.  “Shhh. Don’t tell. I need everyone to know what a bad motherfucker I am.”

“Sure thing, Wyatt Earp.  You keep on having quick draw contests with the outlaws.  I’ll keep your secret safe.”

“Thanks, Miss Kitty.  Can I start a tab at the saloon?”

“For booze or broads?”

“Yes.”

“Of course.”

***

Negan and Marlowe were sharing stories about the first movies they had seen in the theatre when they heard voices outside the clinic door. 

A knock at the door.

_“Boss? ”_

“Shit, Dwight.”

Marlowe nodded at Negan.  He got up and opened the door forcefully.

“What?”

Dwight looked around Negan to Marlowe.  They smiled in acknowledgement at one other. “Boss, we got a runner. Gordon.”

Negan turned to Marlowe.  “Business. Been a good lunch date.”

“Agreed.”

“Let’s step outside and you tell me what the fuck is up.”

Marlowe waited for the door to shut.  She gathered the rest of the food and set it on a counter, saving all the berries and the rest of her sandwich for later.  

Sitting down in a chair, Marlowe closed her eyes and replayed Negan’s mouth near her neck.  

She smiled.


	4. "It's Hard to Be a Saint in the City"

_“Doctor!  Doctor!”_

Marlowe opened her eyes.  There was no light coming through the curtains in her room, and she still heard the crickets and frogs outside.   _What the hell time is it?_

The door opened before Marlowe could get out of bed.  She met the tall, thin, red-haired man in the middle of her room.  He looked away from her, she assumed, because she only had on a tank top and panties.  

“We need you, Dr. Marlowe.  Pretty urgent.”

“Okay.”  Marlowe slipped on some pants and flip-flops.  She followed the tall man through the halls.

“It’s James, the guy that cuts our hair.  His wife Sylvia came busting into the night watch area screaming.”

“What’s going on?”  Marlowe and the tall man turned a corner.

“Don’t know.  Must be bad. She didn’t bother getting dressed.”

***

The couple’s room was smaller than Marlowe’s, but held four twin beds.  A middle-aged couple Marlowe had seen in the dining area were holding each other, wrapped in a wool blanket.  A grey-haired man lay on one of the beds. Stroking his hair was a naked woman of about the same age, late fifties or so.  

“James, it’s your sweetheart. Wake up.  Wake up, baby.”

Marlowe pulled the sheet up and felt the man’s legs.  She checked the pedal pulse on his foot and then the ankle.  “Nothing,” she mumbled to herself. “Damn.” She turned quickly to the second couple standing by the window.  “Out!”

The two wasted no time leaving the room, slamming the door behind them.

The tall, red-haired man asked, “What are you doing?”

“Checking the pulse.”

“Shouldn’t you check his neck?”

“Not unless I have to.”  Marlowe glanced quickly at the man.  “I need you stand closer to me.”

The tall man did as she asked.

“Hey,”  Marlowe said.  

The man came next to her.

Marlowe whispered to him, moving up the legs with her hands, looking for the femoral pulse at the grey-haired man’s groin.   _“Draw your gun and stand by his head.”_

“Huh?”

“He’s cold.  Acute cardiac event in his sleep, maybe.”

The woman Marlowe assumed was “Sylvia” was sobbing, her breast hanging near her husband’s face.  “Baby, wake up. _Please._ ”

No pulse.  “Shit,” Marlowe said.  

“Check his neck?  Like they do in the movies?” asked the red-haired man.  He had his 9mm out, but it was pointed toward the floor.  

“Uh, Red, you’re gonna have to point that at James’ head.”

“Why?”

Marlowe saw James’ eyes flutter.  

“Red, step back.   _Sylvia…_ ”  Marlowe walked around the bed and grabbed Sylvia’s arm.  She wasn’t budging.

“ _No!_ I won’t leave him.”

“Shoot him,” Marlowe said to the tall man.  

Red fumbled with the pistol.   He squeezed the trigger. “Nothing.  No action.”

“Flip the thumb safety.”  Marlowe’s heart was beating hard.

James opened his eyes.  They were yellow. He began to wheeze and sputter.

“Flip the safety!”  

_“I can’t!”_

Sylvia leaned over further.  “James! Baby!”

 _“No!”_ screamed Marlowe.

Marlowe tried again to yank Sylvia by the arm, just as James’s head came off the pillow.  Marlowe watched him turn to his wife. Sylvia was standing firm and wouldn’t budge. Seeing what was about to happen, Marlowe let go of Sylvia and ran over to the red-haired man on the other side of the bed.  

Red flipped the thumb safety up on the pistol.  He and Marlowe stood together, Marlowe holding his arm tightly, as James sat up next to the still-bent over Sylvia.  He was moaning gutterally as Sylvia kissed his forehead.

James grabbed Sylvia’s arm and opened his mouth.  As if in a spell, Sylvia seemed oblivious to her husband’s transformation. She leaned closer.  

Marlowe had a passing thought that James looked like a rooting baby, new to the world,  searching for nourishment.

James’ growls became muffled as he took one of Sylvia’s flaccid nipples into his mouth.  

Sylvia shrieked and shoved James away.  Her chest poured blood. _“Help… me!”_

James stumbled off the bed, caught in the sheet.  He backed his bloody wife into the wall and tilted his head onto her neck.

Sylvia screamed.

Red began shooting.  

Marlowe covered her ears and counted the rounds.   _Fourteen...fifteen…_

Silence.

Through the ringing in her ears, Marlowe heard the pistol make a cracking sound as it hit the floor.  Red stumbled back into her. He shoved past her and left the room.

Marlowe heard the tall man retching in the hallway.

***

The sun had been up for a while when Marlowe sat down on the bed closest to the window.  Her back ached and her fingers were pale and prune-shriveled from the scrubbing.

She felt guilty for stretching out on a stranger’s bed, wondering which of the couple’s this one was, the wife or the husband.  

Simon had come to check on her and offered to find one of the cleaning staff to take over.  Marlowe had quietly refused the offer, telling him she _needed_ to do this.  She had asked him to request Dr. Carson work alone today.  

Simon had given her a hug, kissed the top of her head, and shut the door softly behind himself.

After the gunshots, several Saviors had stormed into the room.  Marlowe remembered babbling to them. _He was dead...He got his wife.  They’re gone._

Marlowe had stood by herself near the window and watched the men put the two corpses onto a tarp and drag them out.  She had made herself stare at James. He had been shot in the mouth, and his jowls hung down, reminding her of the cartoon character Droopy Dog.  

When Sylvia was lifted, naked, onto the second tarp, Marlowe could see the sizable chunk bitten off of her breast.  Her nipple and areola were gone, leaving ragged flesh. The sides of her belly hung over her hip points, and they were streaked with blood like red stretch marks.  

One of the men brought back cleaning supplies and buckets.  He saw the scene, blood covering the decedent’s bed and part of the wall, and he had vomited on himself and the floor.  Marlowe shooed him out, locking him and the other Saviors out.

The thin mattress, bed sheets, and cleaning cloths were in a pile on by the door.

Marlowe searched and scrubbed until all the hair, and bits of flesh and bone were gone.  The paint on the wall by the bed was scrubbed away and peeling where the gore had been. Marlowe had taken broom bristles and teased out and wiped away all the bloody tissue from the bed frame and baseboards.  

Nothing of the horror was left except five tiny bullet holes in an arc formation on the bedroom wall.

Now Marlowe lay on the bed.  The ringing in her ears had stopped some time ago, but they still felt clogged like she had been swimming.   She stared at the ceiling, trying to find images in the shapes of the brown water stains. Tears rolled and fell down her cheekbones.

***

Marlowe made her way back to her room to gather clothes and a towel for a shower.  

Her door was ajar.  

Putting a hand on the door, she took a step backwards and contemplated going to get Simon, or anyone, to go into the room with her.  A chill raced up her spine and she decided she needed to be around people, not be alone.

“Gotta use that impulsivity to my advantage,” Marlowe said aloud, trying to reassure herself.  “Face this head on.”

Marlowe shoved the door open.

Her bed was made.  Surely she hadn’t left it like that early this morning?   _Was it_ this _morning?_ It seemed like she had been away for days in the madness of what had happened.

Where a mostly-empty bookcase had stood, a small, dark cherry table now resided.  On it was a white sculpture of the Buddha, as tall as a bedside lamp. He sat on red fabric, like a table runner. On either side was a vase with red roses.  Marlowe’s mala beads from her rucksack were coiled in front of one of the vases, sitting on top of her morning prayer book, _Pearl of Wisdom_.  A piece of paper lay in front of the other.

The message was simple, and scrawled in large letters, all capitalized:

_Did you miss me?  I missed the fuck out of you.  XOXO_

_-N._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. “Morituri te salutant”

“Your test is negative, Sherry.”

The young woman looked at Marlowe with sad eyes.  

Marlowe had been trying to make small talk to either cheer her up, or to get at whatever sadness was bubbling to the surface.  “The dress is adorable, by the way. Definitely something for this hot weather we’re having.”

“Thanks,” Sherry said.

Carson, standing behind the exam table adjusting the lamp, shot Marlowe a grim look and shook his head.    

“Dr. Carson, could you step out for a moment so we can have a little girl talk?”

“Afraid I can’t, Dr. M.  That would be...against policy at this time.”

Marlowe felt her stomach twist.  She grabbed Sherry’s chart. “Just a sec, Sherry.  Let me jot something down before I forget.” Marlowe grabbed a piece of paper off the counter and wrote quickly.

 _Something’s up with her.  She wants a PG test but presents depressed.  Domestic violence? Rape? Need time_ _c̄  pt alone._   

Carson snatched the pen and paper.

_No.  Talk later._

Marlowe took a deep breath and stared Carson down.

The door to the infirmary opened.  

“Well,” Carson said, putting on his fake smile.  “We were just finishing up.”

“Hey Dwight,” Marlowe said, trying not to stare at the greasy-haired man Dwight held onto.  The prisoner, she assumed, smelled awful, and wore sweatsuit with the letter _A_ on the shirt.  

Dwight nodded, acknowledging her.  “Doc.”

Sherry stepped off the table.  “Hi, D.”

Marlowe noticed Sherry was trembling a bit.  

“Hey,” Dwight said.  He stared at Sherry like she was the only thing in the world at that moment.

Sherry turned to the prisoner.  “Daryl. Right?”

“Don’t talk to him,” Dwight told her firmly.  He pushed the man toward the exam table.

Sherry watched Dwight stare at the pregnancy test on the metal cart.  “It’s negative,” she told him, looking at the floor.

“Well, maybe next time.”

“Sorry,” Carson said, breaking the silence.  “Still getting used to having an assistant.”

Marlowe glared at him and walked to the other side of the room to pretend to look at some prescription inventory. She heard Sherry speak, likely to this “Daryl.”

“Whatever they say, just do it…”

“I said don’t talk to him,” Dwight told her.

Carson spoke up. “Okay, let’s take a look.”

Marlowe watched Sherry leave.  She stayed at the pills while Carson worked on Daryl, feeling like an invisible eavesdropper.  

“It’ll get better,” Carson said.  “If you let it. Negan will take care of you.  Trust me.”

Dwight took Daryl from the room.

Marlowe and Carson both stared at the door as it closed.  

“What the _fuck_ , Emmett?”  

Carson kept his monotone.  “You younger generation certainly are vulgar.”

“Really?  Something is awry and you don’t give me a moment with my patient?  My _female_ patient?”

“I could not.”

“Why?”

“As I said,” Carson breathed out audibly.  “Policy, dear.”

“Don’t patronize me.”  

“I’m not.  I have rules, just like everyone else.”

“How is speaking privately with a vulnerable patient breaking rules?”

“Believe me when I say the things I do are for your best interest, _Doctor_ Marlowe.”

“Fine.  Look, I didn’t pick up any bad vibes from Dwight.  I genuinely don’t think he would hurt her. He was gentle with Sherry, even when admonishing her.  But something is... _off._ ”

“Perhaps they have been trying to get pregnant.  You know how people get. Depressed and all. Didn’t you have friends with ticking biological clocks?  Women who watched with sadness others with life growing inside them? Women who yearned for that primal, female desire to give birth and nurture a child?”  Carson fiddled with the table lamp again. He sighed. “You know as well as I how strong that hunger can be. Even in this… this purgatorial world in which we live.”

Marlowe considered his words.  Logically it made sense. Sherry seemed like she trusted Carson;  perhaps a new provider would not be an easy confidante for her. She decided to let it go.

“What about this ‘Daryl’ fellow?”

“What about him?”

“He’s a prisoner?”

“Yes.”

“What did he do?”

“He and his _people_ killed almost thirty of ours at an outpost.  While they _slept_.”  Carson took a sip from his coffee mug.  “It was unprovoked. Negan made him an example.  They’re a feral group, obviously. Letting the loss of a centralized government and law enforcement body embolden them to be amoral animals.”  

“ _Jesus._ ”  Marlowe thought back to the morning she was awoken by Negan raving about the deaths.  She remembered being in his office for two hours, being grilled about places like “Hilltop” and the “Kingdom.”  

“I meant what I said.  Negan will make sure this man will get all the care he needs.  Negan is at least a man of his word. It’s not without thought he re-named this old factory ‘the Sanctuary.’  He believes he is the leader of the _Saviors_.”

“Cold comfort,” Marlowe said.  

“How is that?”

“I’m still not satisfied.  Not enough transparency here.  I always feel like people are avoiding me, keeping things from me.”

Carson rubbed his face, thinking.  “Nonsense. These folk just don’t trust outsiders.  Give them time. I believe at some point you’ll have a clearer picture.”

“It’s like everyone has been ordered to keep everything close to the vest around me.”

“Can you blame our dear overlord?  You arrive and almost immediately an entire outpost is slaughtered by some unknown group.”

“True.  They’re known now, obviously.  This Daryl is a member.”

“Yes.  It’s another faction we now do _business_ with.”

“Why would you all do business with such a ruthless bunch?”

“They’re not unlike us.  Evidently they have a community.  A whole town they’ve taken. They have abundant resources.  Crops. Horses. Homes. Running water. Clothing. Medicine.  A leader.”

“So they’re _not_ animals?”

“They murdered sleeping human beings.  People with families.”

“Why?”

“Why do dogs tear up hen houses and leave bloody corpses strewn across yards?  There is no rhyme and reason to bloodthirst.”

“True.”

“You talk as if you’ve been sheltered from this new world.”

“No.  Just stupidly hopeful.  Seems the same as it was before the Plague.  Just more obvious now, I suppose.”

“Humans are, by nature, going to seek out those who are like themselves.  We form cliques and factions. It’s what we do. You get a leader who is bloodthirsty and feels like he is entitled to the rewards of others’ blood, sweat, and tears, and he finds others would will believe.  This Alexandria is no different.”

“Alexandria?”

“Well,” Carson said, rubbing a coffee stain from his mug with his thumb.  “I’ve already said too much.”

***

“Marlowe, Luna’s in labor!  I think. Can you come?” The preteen girl stood next to Marlowe in the dining hall, rocking back and forth in her sandals.

“Sure, hon.  Let me do something with this.”  Marlowe held the piece of bread in her mouth, tucked the paperback she was reading under her arm, and took her dinner tray to the washing up line.  “Okay, Bella.”

“Yay!  Come on.  I know a shortcut to her.”

***

The goats’ pen was twice the size of Marlowe’s first apartment.  She’d been an emancipated minor, and had rented it the same year Kurt Cobain shot himself.  

Bella swung the gate open and rushed in.  Marlowe had finished the dinner roll on the way and had thrown the novel into the infirmary, locking it back up, on the way to the animal husbandry area.  

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Marlowe cooed, walking over to the black and white nanny goat.  

Luna made a loud _baaa_ at Marlowe, who scratched her under her chin.  The rest of the herd was uninterested, sitting in the dirt, or standing around.  “ _Baaaa!_ ”

“Yes, Mama.  Yes, who’s a precious little dumplin’?”  Marlowe squatted down next to the goat and ran her fingers through the thick hairs on her back.  “Let’s look at this backside.”

Luna’s vaginal opening was ripe and Marlowe could see a bit of the placental sack, like a wet pearl coming through.  

“Were you waiting on me, sweet Luna Pie?  Did you need your bestie here, huh? I get to rub your hooves with essential oils and wipe your face with a wet cloth?  Play some Enya on the stereo? That’s my girl.”

As soon as Marlowe reached up to gently massage the goat’s haunches, to help relax her, the kid, still encased in the placenta, slid out.  

“Oh my,” Marlowe whispered.  “Oh my, my.” She caught the kid as it slipped out of the placenta.  

Bella came right over with an old towel, which Marlowe laid the kid on.  

Luna bellowed again.  “ _Baaaa._ ”  A splash of brownish discharge, then blood, followed the noise.  She turned and started licking her black-colored newborn.

Marlowe rubbed the kid down with a towel vigorously as the baby goat twisted around.  The kid finally made a little _Maaa-ah_ sound and tried to stand on its gangly legs.  Marlowe gave a dramatic sigh of relief.

“The little guy is breathing, Bella.  Whew!”

Bella stood back, wrinkling her nose, most likely at all the fluids coming out of the nanny.  She turned away when Luna sucked up the placenta. “What is it, Dr. Marlowe?"

“Oh, that’s the afterbirth.  Lots of nutrients for Mama. She’s lost a lot of blood and...”

“I _know_ that.  Is her baby a girl?”

“Nope. It’s a boy.”

“Oh.  I was going to name her ‘Emma.’  I don’t have a boy name. Luna likes you best.  You can name her.”

“Sweet Bella!”  Marlowe sat back on her heels.  “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.  I’ve named all the goats so far.”

“Hmm.  How about ‘Philip?’”

“Ugh.  Can we stick with the Harry Potter theme?”

“Sure.  ‘Sirius?’”

Bella laughed.  “Sirius Black. That’s lit.”  She hugged Marlowe, who was standing up and brushing herself off.  “I’m going to go tell my mom. Thanks for being here!”

“Oh, thank _you_ for letting me know my bestie needed me.  You’re a sweet girl. I’ll try to snag you some cobbler tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”  Bella turned back at the gate.  “Hey, Mom and I are glad you’re here with us.”

“Me too, Bella.”

***

Marlowe sat on the concrete bench near the fenceline, watching Luna dote on her kid, still licking him.  She wondered if there was another baby in the womb.  It hadn’t felt like it, but Bella and her mother had told her it was likely there were multiples inside Luna.  Marlowe tried not to fret over her favorite creature at the Sanctuary, but it was hard. She was not a veterinarian, but assumed a universal protocol to mammal births.  If Luna nursed Sirius, surely her uterus would contract properly to ensure all the placenta was out, the blood and waters discharging properly. What if there _was_ another baby, stuck in her, that Marlowe didn’t feel from the outside?  

Luna had licked the baby clean.  Now little Sirius tentatively stood up, making his way to his mother’s teats.  Luna nudged him with a lick to his backside, and he latched on. A few seconds later, the rest of the bloody placenta hung from her vaginal opening.  

Marlowe fought the urge to use a cloth to help tug the birth remnants out, knowing that could break off bits inside Luna, causing infection.  She satisfied herself with sitting and watching mama and baby bonding.

Now that Bella was gone, Marlowe could let herself get emotional.  A few tears had welled up as she watched the tiny goat emerge from his mother.   This was not the first birth Marlowe had witnessed.  Far from it. During her OB/gyn rotation, she had felt women’s fundus lines on their bellies to measure uteruses.  She had attended a home birth, uncomplicated hospital vaginal births, emergency C-sections, and everything in between.  The first birth, though, was her nephew, after her older sister had called her at 2 AM on a Labor Day, of all things.

It seemed like a movie, thinking about seeing the person she loved most in the world creating another person. Her sister was three years older than she, but as close as any twin sister could be.  They had shared a common childhood, one so bizarre and awful no one else could understand. Later, they were together for every bad grade, every math test passed, every college acceptance, boyfriend, heartbreak, wrecked car, and lost job.  They clung to each other when it had become only the two of them left. They moved away together, never looking back, not leaving any trace of where they were going. First the two of them, then came the brother-in-law and the three kids. No matter how many fights and hateful words, it was always them.  Marlowe’s sister was the reason Marlowe had the medical degree. Without her, Marlowe knew she was probably be in a single-wide trailer or couch surfing, trading one minimum wage job for the other, spending every cent on cheap alcohol.

It was too much to think about.

Marlowe watched Luna, trying to simply think of the mechanics of birth.  The uterus contracting. The oxytocin hormone released in the posterior lobe of the pituitary gland. The joints and ligaments loosening to allow the pelvic region to blossom open. The baby maneuvering properly to come out unscathed. The entire symphony of the female’s body working on every level to end the symbiotic relationship and evict the fetus from its residence.  

It always astounded Marlowe that the human race was resilient enough to survive history.  Here was a baby goat, standing, bleating, nursing at his mother’s engorged teats. A human baby is a fragile, completely dependent being.  Human childbirth and maternal and fetal mortality precarious. If the baby lay inside his mother _just so_ , without intervention they could both die, or the child become permanently damaged.  A spike in blood pressure or a random blood clot could kill the mother as surely as a bullet to the heart.  A lack of sanitation could bring on sepsis.

Here, in the Sanctuary, despite the unforgiving world, which had reverted to a pre-Industrial Age society, women like Sherry were, ostensibly, still trying to become mothers.

Carson was right.  With many women, that primal drive to breed was strong enough to overcome fear.  

Marlowe thought about the birth control pills Carson had made sure she was taking.  She had no desire to tell him probably ninety percent of the women would not need them. That the Plague was something arisen from human hubris. It was, perhaps, the same thinking that had historically caused those in power to attempt genocide and Eugenics.  It was the paradigm that the world was collapsing under the weight of Mankind. Overpopulation causing the end of Planet Earth. What was meant to sterilize most, if not all, of humanity had created an airborne vehicle for mass extermination.  

By the time the virus was known to National Institutes of Health and the Centers for Disease control, air travel and a global economy had rendered any attempts to fight _impuissant_ .  The virus had been engineered on another continent, and the group responsible had made their intentions known, via messages to several countries’ governments. The end of humanity to relieve the burden on Mother Earth.

Unknowing patients zero were _en route_ or already embedded around the world.  What the terrorist group presented to families as a viable alternative to traditional, allegedly _dangerous_ vaccinations, was in reality a calculated contamination.  The “research” subjects were given, as a reward for their sacrifice, travel to other countries with their families.  Room and board included to the most population-dense cities around the globe. What better way to spread infection than by sending a family of four to Disney World, New York City, Sidney, or Trafalgar Square?

Intelligence agencies seemed to agree, even with limited information, that it had only taken a small group with a wealthy benefactor to tip the dominoes over and topple the world.  There was a scramble for damage control, but all involved knew it was an impotent move, to be sure.

The sun had started to set, and Marlowe heard footsteps.  She knew Bella’s family would be along to put the goats into their small barn, to huddle together after the females were milked.  

“I knew I’d find you out here again.  You okay, my darling Clementine?”

Marlowe looked up to see Negan.  She didn’t recognize him at first.  His voice was uncharacteristically soft, without the bravado and theatricality she was used to.  He wasn’t wearing his leather jacket or his glove. His hair was not as slicked back as usual. She liked it. “Hey?”

Negan sat down beside her, clasping his hands between his knees.  “Why the long face?”

“Just thinking.”  She felt a lump in her throat.

“Girl, you don’t sound so good.  Come here.” Negan put an arm around her.

Marlowe breathed him in as she rested her head on the side of his arm.  He had that spicy scent: the smell of hard work, but not body _odor_. She enjoyed it, made her feel safe, somehow.  Her body relaxed.

“That’s it.  You just rest on my broad shoulders and lean on me a bit.  You don’t have to save the world right now.”

“Thanks.”

They sat in the quiet for a time as the sun set.

Negan broke the silence.  “Looks like our girl over there finally popped.”

“She did. I got to be here.”

“Good.  I know you love her.  They all okay?”

“Just the one kid.  Both doing well.  She’s a natural mommy.”

“Of course she is. She’s loving and affectionate.  Gentle. Never had any doubts she would make an excellent mama.  She was _born_ to do this.”

“Some gals are.  Some aren’t.”

“You seem to have that nurturing gene. You get it from your mama?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“She was missing that gene.”

“How’d you get to be so maternal and sweet then?”

“Had a mad scientist inject me once, just in case I wound up in a place like this.”

“You are _something else_ , Clementine.  They broke the mold in heaven when they made you.”

Marlowe punched his arm gently.  “Back at ya.”

“How is it no man has bedded you and put a bun in _your_ oven yet?”

“Not every woman wants to be a mom. Or needs to be.”

“True.”

Bella and her parents came through the gate, talking animatedly.  They stop and knelt when they saw Negan, a community rule Marlowe despised.  She was exempt, allegedly because her medical position made her on par with the Saviors themselves.  No kneeling or working for points. She was allowed _carte blanche_ at the Sanctuary.  

Negan waved a hand at the family.  He looked at Marlowe’s disapproving face, then turned to addressed Bella and her parents.  “Uh, hey. So, um, thanks for looking after the goats. We all...I…it’s appreciated.”

Bella and her mother smiled broadly.  Bella’s father waved a hand and continued to look at the ground as they herded the animals into the small, makeshift barn.  

Marlowe and Negan sat in silence until the family had gone back out the gate.  By this time the sun had set. The moon was waxing and there was still visibility in the pen.

“Oh gosh,” Marlowe turned and grabbed Negan’s arm.  “Thank you. Thank you for the gifts and the sweet note.”

Negan laughed.  “Baby girl, that note was _not_ sweet.”

“It was.  It wasn’t Hugh-Grant-movie sweet, no.  Fortunately. It was Negan-sweet.”

“Well, fuck me.  That sounds like a compliment.”

“Maybe.”  Marlowe put her head back on Negan’s arm.  “Where did you get all that? How did you know how to set up it?”

Negan paused.  “Hmm. Well, me and the boys went to see a new...business partner.  Got us a new community to trade with. One of the gals there had a set up.  Got the idea from her, you could say.”

“Wow.  You traded for an altar for me?”

“I don’t strike you as generous?"

“Of course.  In fact, Dr. Carson was telling someone today you’d take care of him.  Thank you. I mean, it was unexpected. I was moved.”

“‘T’weren’t nothin’, m’lady.  You’ve worked hard for us. You’re well-liked.  I must say, morale _has improved_ since you’ve graced us with your presence.  I mean, shit,” Negan lowered his voice. “Simon told me about the other night.”

“Oh.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You could’ve come to me.  Talked about it. Cried on these ol’ broad shoulders.”

“I know.  Just didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I get it.”

Marlowe tried to get the image of Sylvia and James out of her head, especially the aftermath.  She changed the subject. “Is Alexandria your new trading partner?”

Negan pulled away from her.  His voice deepened. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Marlowe’s stomach knotted, and she suddenly felt like the bread from dinner was still sitting in it, ready to come back up.  “Alexandria? The new community?”

“Which of these cocksuckers has been telling tales?”

“Oh, I’ve clearly misunderstood.”   _What the fuck_ is _his problem?  Paranoia? Does he_ still _not trust me?_ “No big deal.  Dwight brought some guy in a sweatsuit into the infirmary today for a peek.  He was obviously a prisoner.” She almost mentioned Sherry, but didn’t want to break confidentiality, even in this setting.  “Someone mentioned ‘Alexandria.’”

“Did the prisoner talk to you?”

“Not a word.”

“Who did?”

“Dr. Carson.  I mean, it’s all good.  I think he wanted to ensure I know you all aren’t arbitrarily taking hostages or something.  He said this man’s group killed almost thirty of our…” Marlowe caught herself. “ _Your_ people. While they slept, no less.  Emmett called them ‘animals.’”

Negan’s face softened and his shoulders slumped down.  “Ah, yeah. Doc is correct. Had to set an example of that man you saw.”

“I assume this was the situation that led to my extended time out and damsel-in-distress time in the Biter Pen.”

“Same.”

“Holy shit, though.  Negan, I’m sorry. Emmett said the people at the outpost had families.  They were jumped.”

“He is correct.  Retribution had to be made.”

“What happens now?”

“We have negotiated heavily with the murderers.  Reached an understanding.” Negan stroked Marlowe’s hair.  “Don’t you lose a wink over it, Clementine. We outnumber them. We scared them enough they would not even _think_ about coming this way.”

“Good.  They sound brutal.”

“Their leader seems to _act_ before he _thinks_.  They don’t have the strong, consistent leadership we do here.”

“I’m sure.”

“But, we pulled a Reagan-Gorbachev summit and they agreed we can have a mutually beneficial relationship.”

“So what happens to this Daryl?”

“He comes around to our way of thinking and joins us.  He’s an untapped resource.”

“How do we know we can trust him?”

“I have my ways.  Hey, you had dinner?”

“Yup.”

“Dessert?  Drinks?”

Marlowe smiled more easily than she intended.  “I can’t be bought with offers of pie and whiskey.”

“Can I rent you for the night, then?”

Marlowe took Negan’s hand and stood up.  “Sure.”


	6. “Half My Fault and Half the Atmosphere”

Negan and Marlowe stood at the counter inside the upstairs kitchenette.

“Cherry pie.”  Negan licked his lips and leaned back.  

“That’s what it looks like.”

“Hot diggity.  I love poppin’ cherries.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You love it.”

“Certainly.  It’s the same reason I’ve seen _Dumb and Dumber_ thirty times.  I’m into juvenile humor.”

Negan stopped cutting and raised an eyebrow.  “ _You?_ I call shenanigans.  I figured the only movies you watched were in black and white and made by some French guy.”

Marlowe winked at him.  “Don’t tell. Got a reputation to preserve.”

“You seen _Blazing Saddles_?”

“I quote it, and _Airplane_ , more often than not.”

“ _American Pie_?”

“Not my thing.  How about _Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life_?”

“The one with the knights?”

“Nope.”

“Then no.”

“Your life is incomplete.”

“Probably.”

“What do you miss most from before?”

“Watching football on my giant fucking HD television.  You?”

“Having my neck kissed.”  Marlowe immediately chided herself for putting that out to him.

Negan forked a piece of pie and fed it to Marlowe.  “Mmm,” she said, covering her mouth to speak. “It’s good.”

“More?”

“You should try it.”  Marlowe took the utensil from him and speared a large chunk.  

He leaned in to bite it off the fork she held. “‘Mmm’ is right.”  He wiped his mouth. “Look at you. You got me eating out of your hand.”

“And you got my cherry,” Marlowe said, raising her eyebrows and raising the side of her mouth into a half-smile.

“‘Bout fuckin’ time.”  

***

Negan carried the pie and the silverware up to his bedroom.  

At the door, a man with a shaved head sat on a red chair, rifle strapped to his back.  He was intently reading a _Cosmopolitan_ issue.

“Look alive, J.D.”

“Sir,” the man dropped his magazine and took a knee.

“Radio Carson and tell him he’s flying solo tomorrow.”  Negan paused in the doorway and looked at Marlowe. “And maybe the next day.”

The bedroom was large and looked like a photo spread from an interior design magazine.  The décor was grey with warm lighting.  A black leather couch was nestled by a window, where thick curtains hung.  

“You gonna come in, or gawk?”

“Sorry.  Holy shit.  This is... wow.”

Negan smiled broadly.  “I am just tickled _pink_ that my nerdy girl approves.  Lotta love went into picking out each and _every_ detail in this little penthouse.”  He sat the pie on an end table. 

“Freshen up?  There’s my big ass bathroom.”  Negan stuck out an arm toward the en suite.  

Marlowe stuck her head into the bathroom.  Like the bedroom, it was obviously cared for by cleaning staff.  There was a recess to the left with a dark cherry vanity with a dark granite counter.  The sink was a simple silver bowl and the faucet was set into the wall above the sink, just below a framed mirror.  Two metal vases with purple wildflowers sat on either side of the vanity. The bathtub was huge: a spa tub. Next to it was a large shower stall with grey marble tile.  

“Speechless?”

“Yeah. It’s all very modern and classy.”

Negan came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.  “Glad you approve. Pie time, Clem.”

The two sat on the leather couch, sharing the cherry pie straight from the pan.  

“So, how long you planning on staying here with us?”

Marlowe put down her fork, considering the question.  She touched the inside of her right arm, feeling for the small knot, the scarring around her microchip tracker.  “Don’t know.”

“I think your people forgot about you.  Or they’re roamer chow.”

Marlowe pulled her knees up to her chest and stared at the large cross tattoo on Negan’s upper arm.

Noticing, Negan put down his fork and turned to her.  He lowered his voice. “That was cold. I’m sorry. Hey, talk to me.”  He scooted over toward her and put his hand on the back of her neck. “I’m a dick.  Total asshole. I say shit things constantly. I mean, I’ve been told. I run my mouth all the time ‘cause I don’t know what to do in the quiet.  I can be kinda neurotic. If I keep talking, eventually I’ll say something clever."  He rubbed her back lightly. "Say something, Clementine.”

“Nothing to say.”

“Don’t fucking say that. Tell me something.  About you.”

“You know a lot about me.”

“No, I know what you _like_.  I know your first concert--Elton John.  I know you love pineapples on pizza. You told me your top ten favorite movies, by category.  I know you had a giant cassette collection as a kid, every genre of music. But I don’t know _you_.  You keep that big ass smile on, complimenting others and playing maid and nurse and mama to everyone.  You’re like a big mirror, reflecting everyone’s good qualities. You ask for _nothing_.  You’re like the sky.  It seems like when the storm hits, and you’re still there: quiet and beautiful.  You are who you are regardless. No matter what happens, you’re there.”

Marlowe breathed hard. She tried to will her eyes from tearing over.  “That’s very kind.”

“It’s true.  Been thinking about it. I think there’s no ‘ _Mister_  Marlowe’ because of two possibilities: some lucky fucking bastard is worm food, or you’ve been holding out for some highly-educated, erudite motherfucker who knows what the fuck wine goes with what fucking cuisine dish.  He’s some _GQ_ model with a PhD who owns a summer home in Saint Tropez.”

“ _Sahn-troh-pay._  Not ‘saint troh- _pez._ Pez is a candy.”

“See?” Negan moved away from her and stabbed his fork into a slice of pie, leaving it standing vertical in the crust.  “That shit. That shit beyond _me_.”  He grinned without joy, the laugh lines around his eyes staying hidden.  “You’re from a world outside mine.”

Marlowe rubbed at her ankles and stared at Negan’s white tee shirt to avoid making eye contact.

“I have wrestled with _death_. It is the most _unexciting_ contest you can imagine. It takes place in this...this greyness.  Nothing around, no witnesses, no glory, without the great desire of victory, without the great fear of defeat.  No Heisman trophy. No Superbowl ring. Not _even your goddamned name on a Polaroid in a bar_.   You lose belief in your own right to be even fucking breathing, and less so in the right of your enemy to be."  He picked up the fork and stabbed it in the pie again. "But I’m not dying until I am good and ready.”

Negan got up and paced the room.  “ _So many_ fucking people.  Fucking weak...fucking _weak-ass_ fucking people. Crying. Scared. Doing everything in their power to get themselves _killed._  Spineless fucks cowering in fear until they were ripped to shreds.  I was _surrounded_ by them.  Watched them _all die_.  So many, I fucking lost count.  After a while, I just started seeing _everyone_ like that.  Hell, most everyone _is_ like that.  I just lost all respect for the human race.  Makes it really easy to bash a man’s brains in when you think it might save all his friends.  Especially when you think the only way his friends can be _tricked_ into living is if they are made into slaves.”  He stopped, hunched over, and looked at the floor.  “You stop seeing people as humans after a while.”

Marlowe walked over to him and put her arms around his waist.  She rested her head on his torso.

Negan put his arm loosely around her, as if he was being made to do it.  “We live as we dream: alone. And at some point, the dream disappears and life continues in its own pain.”

“No.  That’s not true.”

He pulled away from her and furrowed his brows. “Tell me you don’t feel completely _fucking_ _alone_ in this shithole world.  Tell me you haven’t sat up at night, crying for the dead people you loved.  Family. Friends. Even fucking _coworkers_ you thought you hated.”

“That’s accurate.”

“More than fucking accurate.  It’s the god’s honest truth.” His voice cracked.  “Tell me you haven’t watched someone die that you loved.  That you didn’t know you loved her so fucking much until she rattled her last breath.”

Marlowe wanted to shove him, hard.  She wanted to grab him and slam his head into one of the four thick wooden posters of his bed.  She wanted to take his ersatz woman, that fucking bat Lucille, and bash in his face until it was ground chuck.

Negan walked over to the couches and picked up the pie.  “We _are_ alone.  We get what we deserve. All of us.”  He hurled the pie at the window.

Both stood where they were, watching the foil pan slide and fall. Crust and filling lingered on the window.  

Negan’s mouth was pursed and he was silent.  He glanced at Marlowe, then looked at the floor.  His shoulders moved up and down. His eyes reddened.

Marlowe tentatively stepped closer to him.  

He turned his back to her as he put a hand to his face. He held up his other hand, signaling her to stay where she was. 

Ignoring his cue, she walked over.  Marlowe gently put her arms around him and rested her head under his shoulder blades.  She felt him sobbing.

They stayed like that for a while.  Negan suddenly turned and flicked off the light in the room.  The moonlight was enough to see where the furniture was, but not to discern each other’s faces and their emotions.

“You should go,”  he whispered. “I fucked up dessert.”

“No.”  Marlowe led him by his hands and sat him down on the bed.  She climbed up behind him and rubbed his back. “I’m staying.”

“Fine.  I’m not good company so suit your fucking self.”  

“I _will_.”  

Marlowe rubbed his shoulders, wanting to let him feel whatever emotions these were.  It would be good for him not to run away from them; she knew that from experience. She surprised herself by also wanting to shield him from them, to put a balm on his hurt.  She knew there is no cure for this grief. She realized at that moment it was the cause of his apathy, his ability to make others bow to him and to serve him. Those flickers of violence she had seen in his eyes.  It must have all been borne from some tragic loss. It echoed loudly within him because he had made himself hollow at the core.

Negan moved around her and laid across the bed.  “I still want you to leave.”

“No you don’t.”

“You will at some point.  Your team... _fuck_.”

“They’re not coming.”

“Why?”

“Guess not. Don't know.  It’s been too long.”  Marlowe looked at her arm again, as if she could see the chip. “This group I was with, the mission I was on… You were right. Everyone gets what they deserve, what they want, whether they know or not. I wanted a mission, and for my sins, I got one. They brought it up to me like room service.  It was a real shit choice mission, and now that it’s over, and I never want another.”

“You’ll stay?”

“I’ve got nothing left.”

Negan moved to her and held her.  She knew he could feel her tears wetting his tee shirt and she didn’t care.  It was dark. They were together in their grief. Whoever he had lost, she knew the emptiness and pain.  He knew hers. She let herself sob.

He kissed the top of her head and whispered, “I’m sorry, baby.  I am _so_ sorry.”

Marlowe looked up at him and he kissed her forehead.  She put a hand to his beard. She felt their bodies move closer together.  She didn’t care. She wanted it. Tonight they would try and piece each other together like a broken jigsaw puzzle.  They could have one night connecting with another human. She kissed his neck.

Negan moaned softly.

Marlowe pulled his tee shirt out of the waistband of his jeans and moved her hand to the hairs on his chest.  She wanted to feel them, and know them. Sometimes she saw them sticking up from the neckline of his shirts when she ran into him during the day.  She would always find herself thinking about them later.

Negan put a hand to her hip and pushed himself back.  “No.”

“What?”

“No pity fuck.”

“It’s not.  I want _you_.”

With that, the two closed in on one another.  Negan put a leg over Marlowe’s body and pulled her toward him.  They kissed, pulling at each other’s clothing.

Marlowe put her head back and moaned when Negan’s hand found the inside of her bra.  He pulled up her shirt and put his mouth on her breast. She felt herself open up, her body readying itself to take him inside her.

Negan got on top of her, holding her wrists down.  “Let me take care of you.”

Marlowe could not stop herself from lifting her hips to meet his body.  

“I’ve got you, baby.”  He kept a hand around both her wrists and deftly pulled up her shirt and bra.  He worked her breasts with his mouth until she was writhing underneath him.

“Please, oh my god…”

“I’ve got you.”  He pulled her khaki shorts and underwear down.  “I’ve got you,” he whispered again, kissing down her belly.  He stopped at her hip points and let his mouth linger on them.  He opened his mouth and breathed on her skin.

“Oh...god...Negan.   _Negan._ ”

He cupped his hand and put it on her pubic bone.  “Mmm.” He pulled her clothes off and spread her legs, kissing the inside of her thighs.

Marlowe reached down and tousled Negan’s hair, feeling hungry to make Negan feel good.  She felt guilty that his mouth was on her, making her cry with pleasure.

As if he read her mind, Negan looked up and said, “Relax.  It’s _hunky-dory_ to just let a gentleman take care of his woman.”

Marlowe’s stomach tickled and she smiled at his words.

Negan continued his work.  Marlowe forgot about her guilt.

She tried not to close her thighs around his head as the world exploded around her.  Somewhere distant, she heard herself screaming. The pleasure came in waves. She had to push Negan away from touching her; she had become too sensitive.

Negan laughed and kissed his way back up her body.  

Marlowe laid spread-eagle on the bed, unconcerned with any parts of her body Negan might find unattractive.  Her ears rang like they did anytime she was feeling faint.

Negan laid down next to her.  “Damn, girl. I think everyone in Virginia heard you come.”

Marlowe rolled over and grabbed Negan’s belt buckle.  

“No. _I’m giving to you_.  A gift is not something that needs reciprocating.”

Negan rested his head on Marlowe’s chest and threw an arm around her hips.

Marlowe ran her fingers through his hair and closed her eyes.

***

“You have _the cutest_ little snore.”  

Waking up, Marlowe became aware of being in Negan’s bed.  She curled up against him.

“I’ve got breakfast on the way," he told her.  That was _the_ best sleep I’ve had in awhile.  You?”

“Like a puppy.”

“Woke up at dawn.  I counted your eyelashes while you slept.”

Marlowe kissed his bare chest.  She ran her hands down his back.  “You still have your jeans on.”

“Yup.  Chivalry isn’t completely dead.”

“You, uh, want me to take care of that morning wood you got going on there, Paul Bunyan?”

“Nah.  I mean, I’m not asking you to do something you might re... _God...damn_.”

Negan stroked her hair as his hips came off the bed to meet her mouth.  

Marlowe enjoyed the taste of him.  She enjoyed the softness of his skin.  When he grunted and held her shoulders, she was surprised.  He hadn’t lasted that long.

“ _Ahhh._   _Jee-sus._ ”  Negan laid out on the bed, pants down to his knees.  

Marlowe looked at him, vulnerable and open.  She noticed the last drip coming off the head of his penis.  She leaned over and quickly licked it up.

“Thanks, baby.  You’re saving me some clean up.”  Negan rolled off the bed and pulled up his pants.   He went to the bathroom. “Oh,” he winked at Marlowe.  “Thanks for being a swallower.”

Marlowe laughed and tossed a pillow in his direction.

***

Negan sat next to Marlowe on the leather couch.

“You know you could sit across from me,” she teased him.

“Nope.  I want to be right here by your side.  I ain’t going _anywhere_.”  

“The fruit and eggs are delicious.”

“I’d ask you to try this bacon, but…”

“Yeah.”

“Wonder what they feed the hogs to make it so good?”

“What are your plans today, my sweet gentleman?”

“Oh, same ol’ same ol’.  Leading my people. Making plans.  Keeping the books. Getting my dick sucked.”

Marlowe giggled.  “Hope you enjoyed.  I read how to do it in one of those magazines in the infirmary.”

Negan slapped his bacon back on the plate.  “No...was that….? Couldn’t have been? First?  Did I deflower your virgin mouth?”

“Yeah,” Marlowe said, with all the enthusiasm of a tired commuter agreeing to upsize her latte to a venti.

“Well, hot damn.  And you _swallowed_?”

“It wasn’t bad.  Like salty raw eggs and bleach, with a hint of whiskey.”

“What the fuck?  No wonder chicks don’t swallow.”

“I enjoyed it.  Oddly.”

“You must really be into me.”

“Or you could really be into _me._  I was really hoping that was where last night would go.”

“Told you, last night was all about Clementine.”

“You’re such a gentleman.”

“To you.  I’m sure there are others who would disagree.”

“Well, I had the pleasure of seeing a different perspective of you last night.  The top of your head between my knees.”

Negan winked at her and tore off a bite of bacon with gusto.  

“I’ve got to get ready, speaking of the infirmary.”

“Nope.  The day is ours, princess.  Doc knows you’re off.”  Negan kissed her, his breath smelling like dead, fried pig.  “You’re all mine.”

***

The rec room was stocked with two dorm refrigerators and several small TVs hooked up to VCRs, DVD players, and video game consoles.  In the center of the room was a standard ten-foot billiards table.

“Oh wow.”

“You like my pool table?  I took you for more a badminton or ping pong gal.”

Marlowe ran her hand across the wooden rail.  “Nice green baize on top. Doesn’t look like it’s been played too much.”

“Uh oh.  Don't tell me you're a hustler?”

“Oh, I hustle.”

“I love hustle. Gets things done.  Truth is, this pool table is defective.  It doesn’t have pockets.”

“Cause it’s a _billiards_ table.”  Marlowe smiled, grabbing a cue off the wall.  “Where we’re going, we don’t need _pockets._ ”

“How the fuck do you play?”

“Grab a cue and let’s lag.”  

Negan raised an eyebrow.

“To see who breaks.”

“Right.”

“We line up a couple of balls and stand next to one another.  Now we hit our balls. Whoever’s comes back to the cushion closest breaks.”

“I’m going to win.”

Marlowe raised her eyebrows.  “You get to break, you have to set up the balls.  Not really a win, if you ask me."  Negan stood close enough to her their bodies touched.  “So we put three balls on the table.  We each have a cue ball of our color. The two balls that aren’t our own are the object balls."

“Holy fuck.  I sure do rue not having a pocketed pool table now.”

“It’s not complicated.”

“You say.”

“You just have to be good at basic physics and geometry.”

“Well fuck me.”

“Hey, I tried last night.”

Halfway through the game, Negan asked Marlowe sweetly if she would get a couple of beers out of the stainless steel fridge.  

“Sure.”

Marlowe caught a reflection of him in a framed _Assassin’s Creed_ poster above the appliance.  She watched how his ass looked as he bent over to make the shot.

He glanced back at her, then used his hands to move the balls, making them _clink_ together.  

_The fucker was cheating._

Grabbing a bottle opener from the top of the fridge, Marlowe walked over, forcing a huge smile.  “Our beers, Sir Lancelot.”

“Ah, thanks.  Wish you’d seen my shot,” he said, popping the metal caps off both bottles, handing her one.  “I think I’m getting the hang of this.”

Marlowe took a long drink, trying to decide how she felt about what she had seen.   _Maybe he’s just trying to impress me? Nothing more, nothing less._ Her gut was telling her otherwise: that Negan played for keeps, no matter what the cost to others.


	7. "The Hollow Men"

“Simon, why do keep looking at your watch?”

The Savior looked up at Marlowe.  “I have to be somewhere in a bit.”  

“Okay.  Listen, I have some charts and inventory to catch up.  It really just looks like heat rash to me.”

“So I can put my shirt back on?”

“Yes.  Just keep it dry.  I may have some talcum powder or something.  I don’t know. Is it only between your pecs?”

“Yeah.  Hey, this exam table is kinda comfy.”  Simon grinned and pushed his hands up and down on the vinyl covering.  “No paper liners, like used to be in doctor’s offices?”

“Nope.  Too much of a luxury.”

“Oh, hey.  Can you look at my throat?  It’s been itchy.”

Marlowe sighed.  “It’s probably allergies.”  She couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday, playing in the rec room with Negan.  She was getting exasperated at Simon, who had taken up an hour of her time for nothing already.  “Look, is there something else? All of this seems like a rouse to keep me in my office for a while?”

Simon raised his eyebrows.  “Oh, darlin’. Maybe I just like your company.”

“Are we waiting on something?  Or someone?”

Just then, the door opened and Carson came through in a hurry.  “We’ll be out of silver nitrate before we know it.”

“What happened, Emmett?”  Marlowe set down the pen she had been fiddling with.

“Oh, uh,”  Carson looked at Simon, who was staring at him.  “Burn. One of the men. Burned his face. They get too close to that incinerator… furnace.  I stay far away from it.”

Simon hopped off the table.  “Well, thanks, Doc. I reckon I’m good.”

“What about the powder?”

“Probably don’t need it,” Simon said, putting his shirt back on.  

When Simon left, Carson locked the door.  

“What are you doing?”

“I just need a minute,” he said sharply. He sat down in a chair. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Marlowe.  That snipe was not aimed at you. I’m just...just very tired of everything.  Negan has someone in his bedroom he wants me to look at. A prisoner…”

“In his bedroom?  You mean office?”

“Yes, yes.  I’m sure that’s what I meant.  I’m to come up there in half an hour or so.  Examine the patient.”

“Let me.  You’ve already had a long day, and you’re tired.  I could…”

“Absolutely not!”

“Okay,” Marlowe said, feeling the hair stand up on her neck.  “Hey, I hate to ask. I’ve been cooped up in here all day. Would you mind terribly if I ran down right quick and grabbed something to eat?  I’ll bring it right back up. Be back before you’re supposed to be up there. Need to stretch my legs.”

Marlowe was almost out of the door before Carson mumbled in the affirmative.  While he was turned to face the cabinets, she grabbed a white first aid kit off the wall quietly and left.

***

“Oh, you don’t need to radio.  Dr. Carson told me _exactly_ what we would be looking for.”

J.D. stared at her.  “I was expecting Carson.  Not you.”

“You want to try that _again_?  Oh you better be fucking kidding me.  I _know_ you don’t want me to tell Negan that you are keeping me from getting shit done.”

“Uh, no.”  J.D. stood up and scrambled for the keys.  

“Besides,” Marlowe smiled sweetly.  “We both know it’s not the _first_ time I’ve been in his bedroom.”

***

Inside the bedroom José was sitting across the table with a gun trained on a young man with some sort of state trooper or highway patrol hat.

“What’s up, Mar?”

“I got this, José.”

“Hey, I thought Dr. Car…”

“Yeah, yeah.  He’s old. He’s worn out from the burn victim.”

“Oh, shit, man.  Did you see that?  Fucking Mark’s face.”  José laughed.

Marlowe had already decided to roll with whatever.  “God, yes. Gross.”

“Like fucking Freddy Krueger.”

“But not the man of my dreams, right?”

José laughed again.  “Hey, Boss is going to be back in thirty…”

“I know,” Marlowe lied.  “You wanna step out while I examine the prisoner?”

“Shouldn’t I stay in here?”

“Oh,” Marlowe furrowed her brows.  “I think this kid is harmless.”

“Really?  He fuckin’ took out like, five of our guys.”

“Two,” the kid said.

“Ah,” said Marlowe.  “He _can_ speak.”

When she looked at him, Marlowe noticed the healing eye trauma.  Whoever had tended to it clearly did not have the proper equipment.  The job was good enough, though, as there were no signs of infection.  

“Look, friend.  I need to speak to this little fellar privately.”

“Cool,” José said. “I gotta go down the hall and bust a grumpy.”

“Take a shit in there,” Marlowe gestured toward the bathroom as she sat down and opened up the kit.  She hoped José didn’t notice the only thing in it was a pen and a paperclip

“Nah, man. I’d get…”  José pantomimed swinging a bat.  

“Yup.  I’ll be two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

“Cool.  Be back in a few.”

José shut the door.

“So, what’s the story?  We only have about five minutes.”

“Fuck you.”

“What?  Hey,” Marlowe softened her tone.  “I’m just a doctor here.”

“I’m not talking to you.”

“Look, I’m not one to lay my cards on the table, but Babe Ruthless and his bat Lucille are going to be in here soon.  I need you to tell me what the Sam Hill is going on in this place? Who are you? Why are you a prisoner?”

“Negan killed my friends.  He took our shit. He threatened my dad.  Told him to cut my arm off.”

Marlowe sat back, taking it all in. “You from Alexandria, by chance.”

The boy looked at her.

“I’ll take that as yes.  Why is he holding you here?”

“I came here myself.  Hitchhiked on a truck.  I wanted to see that cocksucker and kill him.”

“Your people killed the outpost Saviors?  Around thirty of them?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah, well that explains…”

“No.”  The kid stood up, making fists of his hands.  “What he did… He took everything. He bashed my friends’ heads in.  In front of us. Glenn has a baby on the way. His wife watched. Then he fucking brings me up here and taunts me, because of _this_.” The teenager pointed at his healing eye socket.  “He makes me watch while he burns a man, then shows me his harem.”

“Wait, what?”  Marlowe’s heart sank.  There was no way in hell this kid was making this up.  Not a word. “He burned a man?”

“Put an iron to his face.  Not a plug in one. It’s that heavy iron one like my dad’s mom got from her grandmother when she died.”

“Yeah.”

“Then he takes me to this big room with all these women laying around in nice dresses.  He said,” the kid looked down at the table. “He said he likes to have a bunch of women to have sex with.  So they’re his wives.”

“What’s your name?”

“Carl.”

“Carl, we’ve got to get you out of here.”

“No.  I’m not going until that monster is dead.”

“Carl… Honey.  I’m so sorry.”

“Save your pity.”  

Marlowe wanted to hug him, tell him everything would be okay.  Instead she looked at her watch. She really had no time left. She could hear José talking to J.D. outside the door.

“Listen, kid.  Please trust me.  When Dr. Carson comes...when anyone comes...don’t mention me.  Can you promise?”

Carl nodded.

“I’m sorry.  I’m going to do what I can to help.”

She got up to go.

“Hey,” the kid said.  “What’s your name?”

“Clementina.”

“Sorry I cursed at you.”

“Don’t be.”

Marlowe left as José was coming back in.  

“All good, José.  Carson may come up soon.  I don’t think he believes anyone with a vagina can be a proper doctor.” Marlowe smiled and tried to laugh.

“Yeah, he seems old-fashioned.”

“Old is right.  I wanted to have a crack with the kid too.  Second opinion.”

“He good?”

“Yeah.  Just needs fresh air and sunshine.”

***

On the way back to her room, Marlowe asked J.D. to radio to let Carson know she had a migraine and wouldn’t be back today. The shift change was happening, so J.D.’s replacement wouldn’t know she’d even been there. Thankfully. Whichever guard took over wouldn’t slip and ask Carson about her.

***

Marlowe lay on her bed with a wet washcloth over her eyes.  She’d spent more than a few minutes in her tiny en suite bathroom, retching.  As if the universe were mocking her, her head was hurting, and even the light made her want to crush her head in a junkyard car crusher.

There was a “Shave and a Haircut” knock at the door.  Before Marlowe could invite in her guest, the door opened.

“There’s my nerdy girl.  Doc Carson told me a secret about you.  For shame, you leaving your post today. Did you think Daddy wouldn’t find out about you running off?”

Marlowe’s heart quickened.   She kept the cloth over her eyes, trying to think of something to say.  She wasn’t going to lie, or obfuscate in any way. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to play the long game, or to go ahead and tell him what a piece of shit, waste of oxygen he was.

“You have to pay, princess.  You can’t go running off like that without paying me back for lost time.  I _am_ your boss, after all.”

She heard him, she assumed, getting on his knees next to the bed.  He leaned over her. She pulled the cloth off her face.

Negan was inches from her face, looking sweetly at her. He took her hand in his gloved one.  “You look awful. Beautiful, but awful.”

“Negan, I…”

“I know, baby.  Carson told me you have a migraine.  Fucking things. My… I knew someone close to me who had them.  So we’re going to keep an eye on this, okay.” He looked serious.  “Let me pull down your blind, for god's sake. You need anything? Well, of course you do.  I’ll see what we have. Someone is coming up already with coffee. That will help. Chocolate, too. I got a private stash.”

He came back over pulled a chair up to her. Taking her hand again, he kissed it.  “Oh, baby. Don’t cry.”

She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying. Marlowe thought about that kid Carl. She thought about Carson coming back to the infirmary after treating a burn that Negan probably made.   She thought about the wives. Negan going down on her and baring his soul in the same evening.

“Oh, honey.”  He stroked her hair.  “I’m sorry.” He put his forehead against hers.  “I wasn’t going to leave today. I wanted to see you. Have dinner with you.  I think maybe a little field trip is in the cards for me. Need to pick up some flowers and medicine for my princess.”

“Please don’t.”

Negan stroked her arm with his ungloved hand.  “Baby, I _just don’t understand_ why you don’t want me to spoil you. You’ve done so much for me.”  He put his gloved hand on her thigh. “Especially after yesterday morning.”  He bit his lower lip. “Mmm. Damn. You seemed to enjoy it more than I did.”

Marlowe began to sob.

Negan’s tone changed again.  Somberly he said, “Hey, an hour trip, okay?  I’ll be back soon.” He kissed her hand again.  “I’ll have Laura peek in here and there. Carson’s bringing up something to help you relax, said that will work.”  He stroked her cheek. “Baby, baby. I’m so sorry. What can I do?”

_Eat a gun.  Let me bash in your dick with that barbed wire piece of wood._

“Nothing.  Please.”

“I can’t leave while you’re crying.”  He kissed her softly on her forehead, then her eyes.  “I gotta run though. I will return. I expect you to be resting, asleep if you can be.  Pinky swear?”

Marlowe nodded slightly.

Negan kissed her on the mouth and put the cloth back over her eyes.  “That’s my girl.”

She heard him open the bedroom door to talk to her guard on the way out.  “Donnie, make sure my princess has _anything_ and _everything_ her little heart desires.  Okay? I fucking mean it. Ask Mark how serious as _shit_ I am right now.”

***

The light came on in her bedroom.

“You’re going to get us both thrown into the furnace, you know that?”  Carson snapped. “Lying to me and going up there. Then leaving me to tend to a host of patients and their insignificant, nonexistent physical woes.”

“Holy shit, turn that light off.”

“I will not.  I shouldn’t do this.  I should lie to Negan and only _tell_ him I wasted some triazolam on you.  Since we’re now lying and all.”

Marlowe felt an alcohol pad scraping her upper arm.  She didn’t bother moving the washcloth. She hoped it was a vial of cyanide.  She was tired and hated everything right now.

The pinch came.

“There.  I hope Little Miss Hypochondriac is satisfied.  You could get a hangnail and he’d have me waste an entire year’s worth of supplies on you.”

She heard him get up and walk away.

“Not even a ‘thank you.’  Very well. I’m going to my room for the evening.”

“Turn out the light, Emmett.”

Carson muttered something unintelligible, but he followed her directive.  The light went out.

Marlowe lay in the darkness, waiting for sleep.

***

Sometime in the night, Marlowe was dreaming of her family.  Her sister, Nicole, was standing next to her bed, taking a drag off a cigarette.  Her blond hair and makeup were impeccable, as always. Her expensive dress was tailored to her curves.  She looked more like a foreign princess than a girl who used to go to school in hand-me-down-clothing too big for her, and shoes that flapped from falling apart.

_“She ain’t done nothing for a while.  She’s been loafing. I guess her head’s killing her.”_

Marlowe felt someone near her face.  

“She’s out.  I brought her some things.  I’m going to leave them here.  Look, I shaved this shit just for her.”

Marlowe tried to speak, but her sister put a manicured finger to her lips.  “You’re not here, Nicole.”

_“You’ve got this, Clemmie Bear.  Don’t let this sack of shit rule over you.”_

“Good night, princess.  I’ll be looking in on you in the morning.  Hope you like what I brought you.”

Marlowe sank further into her dreams, hoping to see her sister’s children again. 


	8. “Climb On Your Tears and Be Silent”

The next morning, Marlowe woke up late to a room filled with flowers.  A large teddy bear sat on a chair.  There was a bar of Dove chocolate on her nightstand.  

She ignored it and went to wash up before breakfast and work.

***

The door opened and Dwight stuck his head out. He was shirtless.  “Hey, Mar. What’s up?”

“Can I borrow your guitar?”  

“Yeah.  Hang on.”  

Marlowe heard giggling.  

“Which one do you think you want?” Dwight called.  “Eh, just come on in.”

The room was tidier than she’d ever seen it.  Sherry sat on the bed, wearing one of Dwight’s tee shirts.  “Hey, Dr. Marlowe!”

“You’re smiling.”

“Of course.

Dwight smiled at Sherry as he moved some things in the corner.

“I’m glad,” Marlowe said.  

Sherry pointed at Dwight.  “He’s the reason.”

“Ah, you two _are_ together.  Thought so.”

“We’re actually married,” Dwight said, his eyes never leaving the woman.  

“Wow.  That was fast.”

“It’s been years.” Sherry down at her hands, suddenly frowning.  “We’ve just...not been able to be together. Until now.”

“Okay.”  Marlowe was happy for them, but did not want to make small talk.

Dwight brought Marlowe a dark acoustic.  “It’s a mahogany dreadnought. Marty Lanham.  Good sound.”

“I’ll bring her back in one piece later.”

“Take your time.  I ain’t gonna be playing any time soon.”

“You got a smoke I can borrow.”

Dwight took a pack off his end table and tossed it.  “There’s a couple left in here.”

“Thanks, D.  Congrats to you both, my friends.”

Sherry smiled.

Case and smokes in hand, Marlowe shut the door.  Her chest tightened as she heard them laughing and Dwight’s body hitting the bedsprings.  

***

Down the hall, Simon opened his door, towering over Marlowe.  “What’s up? Kinda busy here.”

From the room, a woman giggled.  

_Jesus fucking Christ.  The pussy bar must be having happy hour right now._

“You okay, Doc?”

“Yeah… no.”  She squeezed her fist tightly around the guitar case.

Simon stepped out. “Just a minute, Frankie.”  He shut the door.

Marlowe broke.  “How many?”

“What?”

“How many wives?”

“Marlowe… I just can’t talk about…”

“How many does he have?”

“There have been… I don’t know.”

“Five?  Six?”

“Higher, but you need to know that now…”

“Thanks.”  Marlowe turned left the hallway, trying to hold in her tears until she reached her bedroom.

***

She lit a cigarette, inhaling in the sweet smoke.  It had been years since she’d had one, and the taste brought her back to the bars she and her sister played in.  Some were loud.  Some weren't so loud, with the chatter of couples waiting for their mixed drinks. All smelled of smoke and loneliness. 

On the bed, Marlowe began tuning the guitar, surprised how well she remembered, like riding a bike.  She checked the tuning by picking out a few notes of Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters.”  It sounded in tune.  

After ashing her cigarette into an empty coffee mug on her nightstand and laying it across the top, Marlowe strummed a few chords.  “ _A_ … _B_ …. _E minor…D..._ That’s it. _”_

She played the chords a few times, then began to strum and sing a song she and her sister had played a few times in a set around the town they were living in at the time.

_I want to hold the hand inside you_

_I want to take a breath that's true_

_I look to you and I see nothing_

_I look to you to see the truth_

_You live your life_

_You go in shadows_

_You'll come apart and you'll go blind_

_Some kind of night into your darkness_

_Colors your eyes with what's not there…_

Marlowe played and sang as if the last time she had was yesterday.  Getting to the chorus, her voice broke. “ _Fade into you...Strange you never knew.”_

She laid the guitar on the bed and walked over to the altar.  Tears fell from her face. She picked up the note he’d left:

_Did you miss me?  I missed the fuck out of you.  XOXO_

_-N._

Reading the note made her cry harder.   _No more sister.  No more niece. No more nephews.  No more Negan._

Marlowe ripped up the note and let it fall to the floor.  She grabbed one of vases off the altar and threw it hard against the wall.  

There was a knock at the door.   _“Doc?  You okay?”_ It was her guard.

Marlowe ran to the door.  “I’m good, Donnie. Go the fuck away.”

She went back to the altar and threw the second vase.  She stared at the fresh flowers and water some person unknown put into the vases each morning when she was down eating breakfast.  She had the urge to grab a shard of glass and cut down the length of her arm with it. Anything to stop the pain. She’d go deeply, deep enough to cut the brachial artery and bleed out all over this floor.  

Everything was gone.  She had no reason to keep breathing.  She wasn’t even worth the rest of her team looking for her.  They’d left her and gone back to base. She was past thinking the search and rescue crew were looking for her, or that they had stopped after finding her group dead, assuming the same of her.  She wasn’t worth the effort, evidently. She knew at least Anne would have kept on. Or maybe they had all met the fate of most other people out in this new world.  

None of it mattered.  He was right. Everyone is alone.  

Marlowe thought back to most of her life when, even clinging to her sister, she’d felt like a stranger to the world.  An outsider. She wasn’t fucking worth her mother’s time, or even a cursory search by her birth father, save for when they needed money.  Everyone here had kept everything from her. She was another resource. She had no ties to this place.

_Coping skills, Clem.  Think about Bella. Think about all the times you played poker with the guys here.  Think of the little gifts you’ve gotten--breads and fruits and handmade jewelry. Think of the invitations of joining in on karaoke and video games._

“It’s not enough,” she said aloud.  “It’s _never_ been enough.”  Marlowe screamed, knowing there was no one left who loved her.  She was alone, and had been since the Plague began and she couldn’t save her family.  Perhaps before.

Marlowe grabbed the Buddha statue off the altar, but stayed her hand.  She couldn’t bring herself to destroy a representation of him, even if right now she felt like he was another lie.  A story made up by a culture trying to make sense of things where there was none. Setting him back down gently, she made a mental inventory of what she needed.  Her AR-15 was in the armory, per regulation, but she had been given a Glock and ammunition. That would be the last thing to pack, the easiest thing to get at, along with her compass.

***

Marlowe passed Laura at the alley headed to the main gate.

“Where you going, Marlowe?”

“Out.”

“Uh,” the blond woman said, falling in line next to Marlowe.  “That’s a negatory.”

“I need to go meet my team.”

Laura grabbed Marlowe’s arm.  “Hey, that is a really fucking bad idea.  You know the kinda crap that’s out there. Let me radio and confirm with the big guy.  Get you an escort.”

“I don’t think Negan would care.  You can let me go.”

“You dumb bitch.  I mean, I love you, but you’re fucking stupid if you think you’ll get the go-ahead to leave here, guarded or not.”

“Oh, so I’m a prisoner too?”

“Quite the opposite.  You rule the roost, as far as he’s concerned.  I just know for a fact that if you so much as get a hair on your head hurt, he’ll lose his shit and go postal.”

“Just like with any other woman he’s taken to bed?”

“Huh?  No. God, you are dense.”  Laura pulled out her radio.  “Simon, got an orange at the gate.”

_“Ten-four.  Sending back up.”_

“Laura, please let me go.  I just want to go home.”

“To fucking _where_?  Where you gonna go?  If you had a place, you’d fucking be there now.”

“I don’t know.”

“Will you be able to make it back there?”

“Probably not, honestly.  No.”

“Then you’re like us. Your home is here.”  

Several Saviors came out of a side door.  

Laura spoke up.  “G.I. Jane here thinks she’s going out for a road march by herself.”

“Fuck that,” José said.  “You ain’t goin’. We need you.”

“No.  I’m done here.”

José grabbed her arm and nodded to his men.  “I got this Laura.”

“Fine by me.  I don’t want to answer to the big guy for shit.”

“Let’s go, Doc.”

Marlowe was surrounded.  She hoped they killed her.

***

“Why are you doing this,  José?”

“Keep your head down in the truck until we clear the gate, Doc.  We’ve got a run to make, that's the pretense.  And when the boss gets wind you’re gone, he’s gonna do a Threatcon Delta on our asses.”

“I’m not his property.”

“Well, he seems to think you are.  He can be terrible. He can be mean. And he can be right. He's a smart man. I wish I had words, man. I wish I had words.  I can tell ya something like the other day he wanted to kill me.”

“Why?”

“Because I took his picture with a Polaroid. He said ‘If you take my picture again, I'm gonna kill you.’ And he meant it. So you just lay back. Lay cool. He becomes friendly again, he really does. But you don't judge the Boss. You don't judge the Boss like an ordinary man. Why would anyone want to kill a genius? Why? Because they tell you he’s crazy? Negan is not crazy. The man is clear in his mind, but his soul is bat-fucking-shit crazy. Meanwhile, I have a mixtape we can listen to. Hope you like classic rock.”

“Where are we headed?”

“Another community. It’s about twenty miles from here.  Some of us don’t like the way we’re treated by _El Jefe_.  He’s doing a shit job of taking care of things.  You can’t tell me all the fucking bowing and kneeling and licking his boots is a good thing.”

“No.”

“So you get it?  Good. This place we’re going to, a few of us have been quietly trading with them.  They fucking hate Negan. He’s killed a bunch of them and stole what little they had.”

“Why are we going to them?”

“He won’t find you there. They’re real good at hiding things.”

“I need to get back to my base.  It’s not far. It’s not even an hour from here, at most.”

“Oh, don’t worry.  I know our friends will be glad to see you.  Someone like you will be welcomed there.”  

Marlowe sat up in her seat and listened to the music.  Chris Isaak was singing in his sad-Elvis voice:

_The world was on fire and no one could save me but you_

_It's strange what desire will make foolish people do_

_I'd never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you_

_And I'd never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you..._  

***

The sky had darkened, even though it was around three o’clock.  Marlowe heard thunder from far away as the truck pulled up to a gate.  

José honked twice and a man with curly dark hair and a short, greying beard walked out of the gate and over to the truck.  His clothes were dirty and his hair looked greasy.

“Y’all took long enough,” the man said to José.  He looked across José at Marlowe. His blue eyes stared at her.  “This the woman?”

“Yes.”

“Good.  We need a doctor.  Come on through.”

 


	9. "I Sing Just to Know I'm Alive"

 

José pulled the truck through the gate.

“What’s going on?”  Marlowe asked. “Do you know what they need?  I didn’t exactly bring any medical supplies.”

“Who knows?”

Inside the gate was what had been a large subdivision.  It had gotten so dark Marlowe couldn’t see much as they pulled over to a clubhouse with a pool in front.  José and Marlowe got out of the truck.  She heard a squeak from the back.

It was David, the creepy guy she always avoided after that time he stood too close to her in the chow line.  

The curly-haired man gestured to a side door.  “Y’all get in before the rain starts.”

Inside the clubhouse was a dining hall with a kitchen.  Marlowe set her rucksack down on a table, but kept her AR-15 soft case strapped across her back.

Marlowe stuck out her hand.  “I’m Dr. Marlowe.”

The curly-haired man didn’t make eye contact.  He turned toward David. “How do we know he won’t be coming for her?”

José spoke up.  “She wanted to leave.  Didn’t make a secret of it.  Got witnesses she was sneaking out on foot. No way to trace her here.”

“Good.  Don’t need your boss over here taking anything else.”

“Hey, no worries, man.  He’s got bigger fish to fry.”

“Yeah?”

David spoke up.  “Some new group. They took up with Hilltop and killed a couple of dozen of our men.”  David pointed a finger gun at the curly-haired man. “ _Pop, pop._ ”

The curly-haired man laughed.  His laughter got louder. His ran a hand up his forehead.  “Good. We’re off the hook for now.”

Marlowe stared at the man’s forehead.  He had a deep scar in the shape of a _W_.  

Her heart suddenly beating faster, Marlowe walked toward the door.

“Where you going, Doc?”  David called.

“Left something in the passenger floorboard.  Be right back.”

David grabbed her arm.  “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, doll.”

“Fuck you,” Marlowe said, reaching for the knife in the long leg pocket of her combat uniform pants.  

From behind her, the curly-haired man grabbed her wrist.  “Oh, no. We’re playing doctor and patient today. You’re the patient.  I’m going to examine you.” He giggled.

Marlowe twisted her wrist and ran for the truck.  She got in and locked the doors, grateful it was a pickup as old as she.  She pulled her knife out and yanked two red wires from under the steering column.  Marlowe quickly stripped them enough to use a cloth from the floor to twist them together.

The truck screeched to life.  

“Thank you, Mamaw,” she prayed to her late grandmother who had taught her the fine art of car theft.

Marlowe pushed the clutch down and pulled the shifter on the steering column toward her and into reverse.  She had to sit on the very edge of the seat for her feet to reach the pedals.

She pressed the gas hard and lifted the clutch.  

The truck stalled.  The engined died, though the dashboard stayed lit.  

“Fuck, me.”

She reached again for the red lines.  Nothing.

“ _Don’t fuck up my truck, you cunt_ ,”  Marlowe heard José yell.

Marlowe’s head was still under the steering column as she heard keys in the passenger door.  The handle squeaked open.

David grabbed her.  

She held onto the steering wheel and kicked at his face.

“Girl, I’m going to tear you _up_.”

Marlowe screamed.  

David held her ankles as the driver’s side door opened.

She felt someone grabbing her hair hard enough it made her cry out.

“ _Hold her!”_   

***

She’d been sitting in a cramped half bathroom for probably hours.  Marlowe was itching all over, she guessed, because that’s what happens when you’re tied to the bottom of a toilet.  Or it could be body lice or bed bugs. Or scabies. Or, figuring this group, fleas.

Two women had come in some time before, to try and force-feed Marlowe from a can of dog food.  It tasted like Vaseline and death. Both women were filthy, with matted hair and clothing that smelled of rotten fish.  Marlowe was pretty sure one of the flattened clumps in one’s hair was feces.

A few minutes after that, the curly-haired man, calling himself “Jackal,” came in.  The cup in his hand had something dark red and coppery-smelling in it. He scooped out some with two fingers and painted what felt like a _W_. onto Marlowe’s forehead.

“One of us,” he grinned, showing teeth that were black at the gumline.  

Marlowe tried to relax, using every meditation and therapy tool she had ever come across.  Nothing was working. She kept thinking about Negan, which made her angrier. He was a fucked up piece of shit, but she’s blow his dick every day until the sun burned out if he walked in and cut the ropes from her wrists.  

Footsteps broke the silence.  Marlowe was not hopeful.

“Oh, hello, Mar.”  It was David again.   _What the fuck is he still doing here?_ “You smell like shit. Or maybe it’s just this room.  Have you looked in that toilet?”

“Nope.  But I bet it’s all log jam and piss.”

“Always the comedienne. I wanted to have some fun with you, but José wouldn’t let me.  He did let me take a souvenir.” David held up a Polaroid of Marlowe passed out on a couch, David’s dick in her mouth.

Marlowe felt her anger rise, but refused to show it.  “Oh, Davey. I didn’t know you were into necrophilia. That’s so...quaint.”

David reached back and pulled Marlowe’s knife from his back pocket. “I would cut out your tongue, but I bet it would feel better on my cock if you were awake and trying.”  

“Ask your boss.”

David’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t take you for the type to crave Negan’s sloppy seconds.”

David leaned closer.  “Oh, we’ve shared lots of slits.”  He kicked her in the face.

Marlowe started laughing.  So this was it. All this work and she was going to die in a filthy, cramped bathroom. She started thinking about her life.  All the chaos of her upbringing. The abandonments and uncertainties. Finally getting to a good place for herself and her sister, and some fucker decides to hit the button and blow up society.  This is how it would end, in a goddamned filthy bathroom, the same as one of many shithole trailer parks from her childhood. Back to the start. Her life coming full circle. The icing on the cake was having to eat dog food and being sexually assaulted by a man.  Full-fucking-circle.

“What the fuck are you laughing about?”

“Why not laugh?”  Marlowe started thinking about movies and characters getting out being tied up. _Indiana Jones_ with Sean Connery tied to a chair behind Harrison Ford. Nope. She had no way to release the rope. It was too tight.

Marlowe felt like she was losing her mind.  “ _Roxanne… you don’t have to put out the red light,_ ” she sang.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“ _Those days are over, you don’t have to sell your body to the night..._ ”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“ _Put out the red li...Roxanne…Put out the red li...Rox..._ ”

“I’m leaving.”

“You’ve never seen _48 Hours_?  Eddie Murphy?”

“You’re a dumb bitch.”

***

_Negan speared a large piece of steak.  “You’ve been here a week already and I just don’t know anything about you, is all.”_

_“To answer your question, I enlisted at seventeen.  I was emancipated and a year out of high school so it wasn’t an issue.”_

_“Your parents didn’t care?”_ _  
_

_“My mother didn’t_ know _.  That’s the brass tacks of it.  I was living with my older sister and she got pregnant by some guy that worked at her cell phone mall kiosk.  So I quit my job at the galvanizing plant and went to the MEPS station in town to enlist. Whichever duty station I went to, she and my nephew went along.”_

_“Want some?”  Negan held out a bottle of Chivas Regal._

_Marlowe held her glass out for the Scotch.  “Thanks.”_

_“So what did you do after that?”_ _  
_

_“Combat medic, sixty-eight whiskey MOS.  Military occupational specialty. Worked with 86-CaSH a couple of states over from here.  Honorable discharge. GI Bill paid for med school at Vanderbilt._ Barely studied.   _Passed by the skin of my teeth.  Used Jolt Cola and the occasional, medicinal line of coke to get through residency.  Passed the boards with the minimum score possible. Re-enlisted as an officer. Went to Olympia, Washington and took sister and nephew with me.  She met her husband. Two more kids. I was there for each birth, even though every other year I was off running a field hospital in combat theatre for Operation Iraqi Freedom and all that.  Went to Afghanistan. Got stop-loss so they made me stay in, but as part of the deal I got a duty station near my sister and the kids here in Virginia. Consortium with a naval base. Epidemiology and microbiology. Close to D.C. and working with Homeland Security and Johns Hopkins on bioterrorism. You?”_

_“Hmm.”  Negan chewed a piece of steak thoughtfully. He swallowed. “Was about to join up with the military and then Desert Storm happened.  I just wanted to get away from my old man. Took a job at a sporting goods store. Whored and drank my way through a Bachelor’s degree in education and human performance. Barely kept jobs as a gym teacher. Kept getting moved to shittier schools. That’s about all.”_

_“Kids?  Roommate?  Girlfriend?  Cats? Blow-up doll?” Marlowe mashed her pinto beans with her fork and scooped up a biteful._

_Negan sighed and sat back in his chair.  He swirled the whiskey in his glass. “I had a significant other.  For a while. Then I had a revolving door of...company.”_

_“Did you like being a teacher?”_

_“Yes and no.  I fucking hated the paperwork and all the testing and especially what it took to get my degree and license.  Got smart girls in college to write my papers. It was easy. Flash a smile and flirt during class. Tell them girls in glasses look hot.  Fuck them. Pass the class. Hope I didn’t see them again the next semester.”_

_“Damn.”_

_“Yeah. You would have hated me then._ I _hated me then.”_

_“You had a girlfriend?"_

_“Yeah.  Something like that.  She passed away after all this started.  Your kinfolk?”_

_“Same.”  Marlowe reached over and poured herself another two fingers and gulped it.  Her nose burned and her eyes watered. She hoped he blamed it on the Scotch._

_“Well,  I...am… sorry._   _I truly am.  Must hurt like a motherfucker.  Makes no goddamned sense, all this loss, but ‘Hell is the impossibility of reason.’”_

_There was a long silence as they ate._

_Negan’s face contorted.  His eyes became yellow and red-rimmed. His mouth opened wide and he yawned a painful-sounding “Ahhhh…”  His jaw broke off with a_ crack _and landed in his mashed potatoes. His swollen, purple tongue hung lifelessly on his neck. Maggots fell out of his nose like pool-goers off a diving board.  They crawled over his steak._

_Marlowe stood up, knocking her chair over. She clenched her fists and screamed but made no sound…_

***

Everything the was the same except for the sunlight coming into the filthy bathroom.

Marlowe woke up, remembering immediately where she was, feeling the pins and needles in her right arm where it had gone to sleep.  Her tailbone ached as she tried to stretch. Her neck was stiff.

She moved and an uncountable number of joints popped loudly.  Nausea crept over her empty stomach. Her head hurt behind her eyes.  

Awake and aware of the smells, Marlowe retched.  

She laid her head back onto the toilet lid and closed her eyes.  Marlowe was surprised Negan had not somehow found her, then she thought about what José had told her.

_“He won’t find you there. They’re real good at hiding things.”_

His gift to her had been revealed as an instrument of torture.

Her hands were swollen. There would be no way to wriggle from the rope.

She had tried for hours the night before to figure out how to break free, even trying to think of ways to pull the johnny bolts up from the toilet’s base and knock over the porcelain.  She’d dozed in spurts, drifting off several times. A part of her wanted to fight and escape, another part of her wanted to sleep forever and stay in a world dreaming of before this holocaust.

***

Marlowe was heaving up green, bitter bile when Dog Food Woman came into the bathroom.  

“You’ve soiled yourself.”

“You fucking think so?” Marlowe managed to cough out.  Every smell, every thought had made Marlowe vomit and piss herself until there was nothing left.

“Clean you up for Jackal.”

“Shower?”

Dog Food walked away from the bathroom.  She came back with a green garden hose.

She blasted Marlowe first directly in the face.  

Marlowe closed her eyes tightly.  She licked the water as best she could.  It tasted like metal and chlorine.

Marlowe’s ears rang when the woman turned off the hose.  Another woman came in a started cutting Marlowe’s clothes off.  She produced a ragged, off-white brick that smelled like piss. _Ammonia?  Lye?_

The first woman grinned, showing her rotten teeth.  “The living make good soap. We cut the fat off like butter.”

Marlowe laid her head back again, feeling more lightheaded than ever in her life _._ She closed her eyes as the two women cut her off the rope and ran the soap over her. She felt them grabbing her hard, hurting her.  Marlowe felt her legs being opened. She felt fingers go inside her and one of the woman was grabbing Marlowe’s breast and twisting it.  Their laughing got fainter.

_***_

_“The smell in here is terrible.”_ _  
_

_Marlowe laughed at him.  “You’re such a city boy.”_

_“I am not,” Negan said.  “I just never spent time in a goat pen.”_

_“Smells like life.  Nature. Purity.”_

_“Smells like shit.”_

_“I can’t believe you’re out here doing manual labor.  Hand me that bucket, by the way.”_

_“The things a man does to get some pussy.”_

_“Oh, so, that’s what I am?”  Marlowe tossed some grain at him._

_Two of the goats hopped over in Negan’s direction.  He stepped up onto the concrete bench._

_“You_ baby!” _Marlowe said. “You are the general of an_ army _of, pretty much, and you are_ cowering _away from goats.”_

_“They’re little shit machines. And they're trying to eat my clothes.”_

_Marlowe grabbed the shears out her jacket.  “So, I take it you’re not going to help me do any hoof trimming?”_

_“You’re on your own with the walking meat, including the manicures.”_

_“You’re an unholy asshole.”_

_Negan smiled and jumped off the bench.  “You love it. I’m like the mall Santa to your little pig-tailed girl.”_

_“Shut up and help me with Luna.  Hold her body while I lift her cute little feet.”_

_“Ah, the things I do for you, Clemmie…”_

_Marlowe looked up at him.  He was smiling so broadly his dimples were darkened by his beard.  His eyes shone like emeralds. He kept her gaze as he walked toward her._

_The world was empty, save for the two of them._

_***_

Marlow came to consciousness on an old couch in the clubhouse.   She was naked, and cold from the wet hair and damp skin. She was freed, nothing binding her, but Marlowe didn’t care.  Her head couldn’t stay clear long enough to move. She knew the two doors were most likely locked. She wanted to walk over to the kitchen area and look for water, as she knew she was dehydrated and food would be too much.  

She wondered how long she could make it without water.  Realistically, she knew, maybe a couple of more days. Marlowe had been in and out of consciousness, without sustenance, for a while.  She had no idea how long. Her lower back hurt, and she imagined her kidneys were giving up the ghost. She had been vomiting up bile for almost a day.  

_Just another day or two… Freedom._

The curly-haired man, Jackal, came in.  He regarded Marlowe casually and stood over her silently.

“We’re gonna keep you.”

Marlowe felt her heart start pounding.

“Or maybe we’ll kill you like he did our people.  Carve you up for food.” His tone was soft, controlled.  

Marlowe closed her eyes tried to breathe through her throbbing head.  

_Two more days… Maybe three at the most._

The sound of vehicles made Marlowe jump.  She heard people outside. There were shots.  Splashing sounds, like people falling into the pool.

Jackal locked the clubhouse door.  He ran over to the kitchen area and disappeared behind the bar.  

_Fucking coward._

Marlowe heard footsteps.  She wanted to cry out.

_Bang.  Bang._

The door to the clubhouse shot open.  People were running in, guns drawn.

Scott, a bald Savior walked over to the bed.  He yelled over the din, _“Radio Laura!  We got the doc here!”_ He turned to a man behind him, “Cover me, Donnie.”

A middle-aged blond man took Scott’s rifle from him as Scott started stripping off his jacket.  He crouched down and put it over Marlowe with the tenderness of a father tucking his child into bed.

The gunshots continued.  

Scott took his weapon back and pointed at the door with two fingers.

Donnie signaled the other Saviors and they ran out of the clubhouse.

“Can you walk?”

“I…” Marlowe could barely speak.

“Hey, we’ll get you out, Doc.”

Laura came into the room.  “Holy fucking shitballs. Is she part of this?”

“No,” Scott said.  “She looks beat up.  That asshole beaner José must have taken her here to spite the Boss or something.”

“That fucker’s going to get skinned alive.”  Laura leaned over to look at Marlowe.

“Yeah, Negan’s going to…”

“No, dumbfuck.”  Laura looked up at Scott.  “By _me._ ”

Laura leaned over Marlowe.  “Hey babe. We’re gonna wait until this shit settles and take you home.”

Marlowe nodded.  

Laura spoke quickly. “Fucking glad as hell I listened to my gut.  Been following José for _days_ trying to figure out where that fucker keeps going.  I bet you’re happy as a man who can suck his own dick that I found you.”

Marlowe heard Simon’s voice.  “Is she really here?”

“On the couch,” Laura said. “Stay here with her. Scott and I are going to help clean up this shithole.”

Simon looked down at Marlowe.  “Boss man’s been ripping his nut sack hairs out worrying about you.  Playing some emo shit loud as fuck while we’re trying to sleep. Moping. Slamming doors.”  Simon smiled at her. “Serious teen girl bullshit.”

Marlowe heard a rustle.  “Si… behind… _bar._ ”

“What?”

Marlowe tried to lift her hand to point.  

In the corner of her eye, she saw movement.  

Marlowe used the adrenaline kick in her body to throw herself at Simon, knocking him over.  She grabbed the Glock from his hand. Marlowe staggered to her feet as Jackal came out from around the bar.  He had a handgun. Marlowe shot off a round at him, feeling someone slap her thigh.

Her ears rang and she fell to her knees.  “Someone...smacked my leg…”

Simon got up put the jacket over her shoulders.  “No, baby. You got shot.”

“Good.  We _were_ even,” Marlowe smiling, trying to talk.  Her chest her and head was light. “I got the upper hand again.”

“You sure do, mama.”  Simon lifted her from the floor.  “There’s blood everywhere. Shit. Hang in there.  I can’t take any more fucking Linkin Park’s ‘Crawling’ coming from Negan’s office at all hours.”

***

Marlowe was fading in and out in the back of the truck.  She felt hand around her thighs. “No…”

“Don’t try to kick me, you dumb bitch,” Laura said.  “I’m wrapping your leg up. Where the fuck is Simon going, Scott?”

“Hilltop.  He took one of the motorcycles.  Said he’s gotta get a package from there and don’t have time to waste.”

***


	10. "Home is Where I Am"

Marlowe woke up to voices, only one she recognized.  

“Did I stutter?”

“I just feel like the odds of her surviving aren’t worth the amount of supplies…”

“Last chance…”

“Fine.  An IV and promethazine, for a start.”

“I am about to make you a charcoal briquette, like I did your brother.”

A needle pricked Marlowe’s forearm.

“She’s so dehydrated it’s hard to get this in the vein.”

Struggling to open her eyes, Marlowe felt the needle go into her hand, then the cold of the saline climbed up her arm.  She was vaguely aware of her other hand being held. Her eyes started to open. She was back at the Sanctuary, in the infirmary. She’d closed her eyes in the truck with Laura, and it seemed like she woke up here immediately.   

Marlowe smelled leather and cigarettes as someone kissed her forehead.  “Don’t worry, baby. Laura told me José took you.  Trashed your room and made it look like you’d left.”

“Laura didn’t know,”  Marlowe whispered. “I tried to leave.”

Negan said, “I figured.  Just trying to give you an out.  ‘Preciate the honesty.”

“I don’t trust a man who cheats at billiards.”

Marlowe couldn’t stay focused.  The conversations and activity in the room were becoming intertwined with dreams.

“Marlowe?”  A beard man leaned over her.  “I’m Dr. Carson.”

“The fuck you are,” Marlowe said.  

_Nicole was standing by her side.  “We should go see that new movie with Anthony Hopkins?  Wanna grab some Steak ‘n’ Shake first?”_

“Yes,” Marlowe heard herself mumble.  

_Marlowe got into the passenger side of her sister's Trans Am.  Fleetwood Mac was in the tape deck.  Nicole offered her a Virginia Slims cigarette._

The man claiming to be Dr. Carson spoke up, spilling into Marlowe’s dream.  “Transfusion itself is relatively simple. It’s the blood typing…”

“She’s AB positive,” Negan said.  “Saw it on her dog tag. I’m O-negative.  I gave blood at every blood drive at the schools I worked at.”

“Hmm.  Either works, actually.”***

Marlowe heard someone singing softly.  

_“Cold wind ripping down the alley at dawn_

_And the morning paper flies_

_Dead man lying by the side of the road_

_With the daylight in his eyes…”_

It was  Negan.

_“Don't let it bring you down_

_It's only castles burning_

_Find someone who's turning_

_And you will come around…”_

The infirmary was dark, a bit of sunset coming through the small window behind her, illuminating the man who sat next to her.  A length of tubing ran between them. He was squeezing her hand.

_“Blind man running through the light of the night_

_With an answer in his hand_

_Come on down to the river of sight_

_And you can really understand…”_

His voice was like warm bourbon poured over ice.  She listened to every word, to every note, wanting to keep it with her always.  Like so many other times, she’d ran away. Here he was, inexplicably. Marlowe suddenly wanted to throw up.  

Negan stopped singing.  “Hey, don’t cry.”

Marlowe turned her head, dizziness coming in waves.  “Didn’t realize I was.”

“Don’t worry, babe.  You’re okay. Doc’s gonna be back soon.  I let him get some food. Low blood sugar gives you shaky hands, and you make mistakes.”  He smiled at her, tentatively. “This is _one_ game of ‘Operation’ I do _not_ want to be lost.”

Marlowe looked over her shoulder to see the tubing going into Negan’s arm.

Noticing, Negan said, “Oh this?  Well, ‘tis better to give than to receive, right?  You’re getting your present from Saint Nick _early_ this year.  And…” Negan held up a glass from the metal table next to him.  “I’ve switched to unleaded, at least for the day. Water. Nurse Carson tells me if I’m good I get a cookie and a sticker after this.”

“Carson?”

“Oh, while you were off playing Calamity-fucking-Jane with the Wolves, your dear colleague chose to leave.  Simon ran up to Hilltop and brought his brother.”

“Why would he leave?”

Negan stared at her.  He smiled with closed lips, raising his eyebrows. Marlowe could tell he was searching for an answer.  

“What did you _do_ ?”

Negan’s tone became curt.  “He broke a rule, Clem. He broke a big, fucking rule.”  He held her hand and studied the cannula taped to her arm.  

Marlowe tried to sit up. Surely Negan wasn’t angry Carson was giving out birth control pills? That would be completely crazy, cruel _._  She decided to ask about Emmett later.  Her stomach churned and she was light-headed and sore.

“Hey, you need to just lie there.  You need anything, I have lackeys for that.”

“My leg hurts.”

“You got shot.  I heard you went all badass and took down the Wolves’ leader in your birthday suit.  That is _hot_.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve shown my ass.”

Negan chuckled.  “You are something _else._ ”

“I’m sorry I left, honestly.”

“Me too.”

The door opened and the man with the reddish-blond hair and beard came in.  “Watch your eyes; I have to hit a light.” He came over and looked at the tubing.  “This should be good. Ready to get unhooked?”

Marlowe laughed.  “I’ve have easier times getting hooked up with a guy.”  She turned to Negan and smiled when he laughed.

“I’m Dr. Carson.”

“So I heard.  You’re awfully serious.”

Carson glanced at Negan.  “Well, I take my responsibilities seriously.  It’s a big job. Oh, I heard you’re a nurse?”

“Doctor,” Negan spat.

“Ah, my apologies.  What’s your specialty?”

“Med-surge.  Formerly.” Marlowe’s throat was irritated.  

Negan spoke up.  “This little spitfire was an army doc.  Like the ‘M*A*S*H’ variety. Just without the laugh track and Corporal Klinger.”

“Impressive,” Carson said emotionlessly, as if his mind were occupied.  He worked quickly. “Both of you take it easy for the next day or so. Especially you, Dr. Marlowe.  You’ll need to stay here a few days so I can...”

Negan stood up, holding the cotton ball on his inner elbow.  He stood close to Carson, looking down at him. “That’s a big, fat negatory, Doc.  We’re moving Doctor Marlowe up to the presidential suite.”

“Nee… Sir… I need to watch her.”

“Fine.  You can have a room on the same floor.  Get whatever shit you need and I’ll have my men be your bellboys and bring it up.”

Marlowe coughed for attention.  “So what about the other cool kids at the Sanctuary?  They need medical care.”

Negan held Carson’s gaze.  “Altruistic of you, Clemmie, but I have some good sports here who have some medical training.  Some CNAs or whatever the fuck. They can give out Band-Aids and kiss boo-boos.”

Marlow raised an eyebrow, feeling her nostrils flare.  No use arguing with William Randolph Hearst.

***

“I fucking knew you’d be back in my bed.”  Negan sat in on the leather couch, a ledger and pen in hand.  

Marlowe was propped on thick pillows, staring at the applesauce on the wooden tray in front of her.  “Hmm.” She still didn’t want to broach the revelation of Negan having a harem. Intellectually, the thought shouldn’t bother her, and she hated that he thought tugged at her like a missing tooth she couldn’t stop running her tongue over.     

“You okay?  Don’t like dinner?  I tried to get the lobster, but you know how it is.  Doc says you need the BRAT diet. We’re outta bananas though.  Can’t grow those fuckers this far north. Got the rice, applesauce, and toast.”

 _Don’t you ever fucking shut up?_ “It’s great.  I’m just not too hungry.”

“Bullshit.  You need to eat.”  Negan slapped the ledger on the coffee table and tossed the pen down.  He stood up and swaggered over. His tee shirt was a size too small, and Marlowe tried to look away.  It was a Type O Negative concert shirt, of all things. “Don’t make me come over and do that fucking choo-choo train baby food shit with you.”

Marlowe set her spoon on the tray and stared at him.  She felt her eyebrow raise.

Negan sat down on the bed gingerly.  He put a hand on her leg. “Hey, you gotta keep up your strength.  You took a beating.”

“I need to be up walking around.”

“Need I remind you you took a bullet in that shapely thigh of yours?”

“Yeah.  I don’t want blood clots or atrophy.  I need to be down in the gym, doing some light weight training.  I need protein shakes and teaspoons of creatine, not someone peeling grapes while you fan me.”

“Let’s concentrate on the food first.”

Marlowe wanted to ream his ass for so many things, but her anger toward Negan seemed so far away. He was foremost in her mind while she was chained and roped to a toilet.  He had eschewed dictator duties to sit patiently with her, giving her his life’s blood to survive. Now she was in his bed, no expectations of anything physical.  She had no gut feeling that any of this was seduction, only concern. Yet she knew that whatever happened to Emmett would make her furious.

Negan swirled the spoon around in applesauce and held it up to her.  “Please? Make Daddy happy.”

“Gross.”

“Okay.  Other than that fucking goat, who’s your best friend in this dump?”

“Don’t talk shit about our furry daughter. She just made us grandparents.”

“Well?”

“The Buddha.”

“I mean non-fictional people.”

Marlowe laughed.  “You got me there, bosom buddy.”  She leaned forward and took the spoon into her mouth.  

“See?  Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”

“I did eat part of the oatmeal while you were working on the books.”  Marlowe gestured to the other bowl on her tray.

“A bite. That’s not enough. You need vitamins and minerals, sweetheart.”

Marlowe’s stomach twitched at the term of endearment.  “True.”

“If you’re a good girl, we’ll have fresh peaches with dinner.”

“Ooh, another dinner date?”

Negan smiled broadly, dimples darkening.  “Lame ass date, but if that makes you happy.”

“I’m a cheap date.”

“I wouldn’t say that.  Oh, I have someone you’ll want to meet later.  He’s a new addition to our little ragtag band of miscreants.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.  Got a fellar who’s a certified genius.  You and him will probably hit it off. Just don’t go making designs on him.”

Marlowe smiled and took another bite that was offered.  “Oh?”

“You don’t wet your panties for a sweet mullet, do you?”

***

Marlowe woke up in the darkness.  A sliver of moonlight was hitting the couch, just where Negan usually sat.  She didn’t care about the indignity of having a Foley catheter; it was saving her from getting up and disturbing the quietly snoring man next to her.

After dinner, Negan had gone to attend some business, leaving Marlowe with a pain pill and a Louis L’Amour novel.  Four pages in, Marlowe had fallen asleep. She was somewhat aware of Negan coming in later, quietly taking off his boots.  He had gotten into bed with her and kissed the top of her head before rolling over and falling asleep.

Marlowe lay awake, trying not to fret.  She was home, as Laura had said. Chastising herself for being anxious, she tried to remember being at the mercy of David and the Wolves.  She remembered her body being pulled out of the truck, how sore her wrists and shoulders were, and how much she tried to will Negan to her rescue by some non-existent psychic link.   

Her breath caught.  Rolling over against his back, Marlowe put her arm around his waist and buried her head between his shoulder blades. _I don’t_ need _him.  I don’t_ need _anyone._ She knew felt so safe with him.  Everything he had done for her came to mind.  He had corrected the new Dr. Carson on her title.  He helped her muck goat shit and had made sure she had everything for her faux-migraine.  She felt so fucking safe with him. There was never any doubt, he was protective of her.

Despite herself, Marlowe cried into his tee shirt.  She told herself it was all the meds, all the pain. It was a reaction to the transfusion and the trauma. The Polaroid of David’s dick in her mouth. Lying naked, helpless, while the Wolves touched her. Trying to will herself to let go and die.  She began to sob. Her body shook as the sobs wracked her.

Negan’s breath deepened.  His voice was shaky. “Hey, mama. What’s going on?”

“Oh god,” Marlowe choked out.  “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Rolling over, Negan took her into his arms and held her tightly.  He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. “Bad dreams?”

“Yeah.”  There was no deception in that.  The last few days _had_ been a bad dream.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.  “I am truly sorry. You’re here now.”

“I thought about you.  I kept hoping you would just show up, like you would know where I was.”

“Oh, darlin’.”  Negan’s voice broke.  “I would have been there.  I swear. We didn’t know where you were. I came back and your things were gone. I...I didn’t react well.”

“You said you figured I had left on my own accord.”

“Well, I knew that fucker José had taken you.  When I went to your room, I reckoned you’d gone willingly.  I didn’t know why you left, what I had done.”

“Why did you assume it was you?”

Negan ran a hand over Marlowe’s cheek.  “Heard it through the grapevine.”

“Oh?”

“The boys. They’re a bunch of _yentas_. They gossip more than a fucking blue-haired sewing circle.”  Negan ran fingers through Marlowe’s hair.

“What did they say?”

“You were pissed at me.”

“Oh?”  She knew they were tiptoeing around it.  Marlowe was surprised the fearless leader of this post-apocalyptic biker gang was being coy with her.

“I guess you found out about the girls.”

“‘The girls?’”

“You know.”

“No, no I don’t, really.”

“The women that live on this floor.”

“Ah,” Marlowe’s breath went shallow and her chest tightened.  “So it’s true.”

“Yeah.”

They lay in silence.  Marlowe realized she had been gripping the front of his shirt and released her hand. Negan took it and kissed it. Marlowe pulled it back and put her hand over her heart, as if protecting it.  

Negan whispered, “I’m sorry.  I swear. Look, I don’t have a fucking crystal ball.  I didn’t know _you’d_ be showing up.”

Marlowe leaned back and scooted over to her side of the bed.  “So you _do_ have a harem.”

“Did.”

“Why and when did that change?”

“Last week.”

“Why?”

“It got old.  Lost the appeal. Can't eat cake everyday.”

“You’re being a child.”

“Yeah. I’m a fucking teenaged boy trapped in this big, sexy body.”

“Don’t obfuscate with humor.  I’m not in the mood, Negan. Although, I feel like that statement’s true.”

“It’s every fucking boy’s dream to have a room of hot women to fuck as he wants.”

Marlowe rolled away from him.  She suddenly just wanted to sleep.

“Don’t shut me out, darlin’.  I’m opening up to you. You drag the candor outta me.”

“Okay.”

“What do you want me to say?”  His voice was gentle.

“I don’t know.  I don’t know why it bothers me so.  What you do is your business.”

“I haven’t told you why.”

“Why, then?”

His voice caught, as if he were being made to apologize for something he didn’t do.  “It’s you.”

“Hmm.”

“Look, us going to bed sealed the deal.”  

“Oh?”  Marlowe stayed on her side, away from him.

“Women are different, but men don’t fall for a girl until they’ve been to bed.”

“We didn’t fuck.”

“What we did was far more intimate.  You know that. No one sleeps in this bed with me.  No one makes me feel like putting the drawbridge down and tearing down the castle walls.”

Marlowe couldn’t speak.  She felt tears, and knew any words would be strained.

Negan put a hand on her shoulder and rolled her back to him.  “God...dammit. I should have found you. I wanted to find you.  I feel responsible.”

“Don’t.”  Marlowe touched his face.  He took her hand and held it to his jaw and kissed it.

“I’m a Savior. I’m _your_ savior.”

“What about the wives?”

“You think I don’t know each and every one of those women wants me dead? Fuck.”

“Why would they want you dead?”

“I rule with an iron fist. My life is a goddamned Shakespearean play.  I can’t trust anyone. ‘ _What is a throne but a plank, red with velvet?’"_

“Oh, Negan,” Marlowe whispered.

“You’re the only goddamned person I can talk to.”

“What about Simon?”

“We talk shit.  We share drinking stories and shoot our mouths off like two high school boys talking about the cheerleaders they’ve fucked.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re different.  You’re not afraid of me.”

“Why would I be?”

“Most people are.”

“You’re a bully with a big mouth.”

Negan stopped stroking her arm.  He was quiet.

Marlowe closed her eyes and started to fall asleep.

Negan broke the silence.  “I, um, lost someone very close to me. You lying there brought it all back. It was right before all this happened. One day they were there, then it all fell apart.  They died. Then it broke me. I don’t _feel_ anymore.  I don’t feel scared.  I don’t feel sad. I don’t feel happy.  I’m just here. That’s my strength. That’s why I’m alive.”

“I’m sorry.”  Marlowe meant it.  

“I’m beginning to _feel_. I don’t fucking like it.  If I let my guard down, these assholes around us will fuck up and die. I am  _responsible_ for them making it. Every one of them. You left, I freaked out. I made a big fucking mistake while you were gone.”

Marlowe leaned back and turned the bedside table lamp on. She stared at Negan.  He took her hand into his and squeezed it. “What did you _do_?”

“I threw Carson into the furnace.”

Marlowe’s mouth opened.  Her chest tightened. “Get out.”

“Clementine, he conspired with someone to let out a prisoner…”

“Fine. _I’ll_ leave.”

“No.  You’re...you’re still hooked up to some stuff.”

“I’ll _un_ hook it.”

Negan ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.  Jesus. He broke a rule.”

“You killed him.  Besides cruelty, you killed your fucking doctor.  We’re not exactly low-hanging fruit these days.”

“I know. I know.” Negan laid on his back and folded his hands over his chest like a man lying in a casket.  “Big fucking mistake.”

“Strategically, yes. You can’t let your hubris and your emotions make your decisions.”

“You know, Simon says the same shit to me. He says my pettiness is going to get my throat cut one of these days.”

“He’s right.”

“Do you still want me to go?”

Marlowe considered her answer.  She went for honesty. “No.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I need another twenty hours of sleep.”

“Same.”

“Goodnight, Negan.”

“‘Night, my darlin’ Clementine.”

Marlowe turned out the light.

They took each other’s hands and laid side by side.  Marlowe listened for Negan’s breath to slow, and she fell asleep herself.  

  
  



	11. "In the Darkness at the Edge of Town"

“Just to be clear, that little redneck shit Daryl didn’t have _anything_ to do with you leaving?” Negan was swinging his bat as he came into the bedroom.  

“What?”  Marlowe looked up from some notes Dr. Carson had brought up to her.  She was sitting with her back to the window, having turned the bedroom chair around so she didn’t have to look at the antelope head mounted on the bedroom wall.  Laying her notes on the glass coffee table, Marlowe put her head against a throw pillow. “Absolutely not."

“Good.”  He sat down, putting the bat next to him on the couch.  “I just had to ask. You know? Next time you get cabin fever, I’ll take you for a drive myself.”

“Fine.  Glad you're here.  I'm going crazy trying to review these charts and thinking of how to jury-rig a chronic dialysis catheter for an access point.” Marlowe was growing more discouraged with every new case Carson had presented to her in the short time he'd been at the Sanctuary.  They didn't have the means to treat everyone, and they both knew it.

It had been just a few days since the shooting, and Marlowe was still staying in Negan’s room.  Everyday she’d eaten a bit more and had walked farther through the Sanctuary, fighting the pain in her leg.  She longed for a trip to the makeshift weight room. “So what’s new at Castle Grayskull?” Marlowe took a long sip of water from her glass.

Negan laughed.  “Does that make me Skeletor?”

“Fuck yeah.  I get to be Evil-Lyn.  Always thought she had a badass costume."  Marlowe rubbed her forehead.  "You still feuding with that new community?”

Marlowe regretted her flippant tone when Negan’s face sobered.  His grin dissolved into a hard line and his eyes narrowed.

“Sorry.  I tend to make stupid jokes when I’m nervous or worried.”  

Negan crossed his legs and put his hands behind his head.  “Eh, it’s okay. We outnumber and out-gun them. Plus, I am putting one of their members to good use here.  He is now our resident ‘chief engineer.’”

“Ooh.  Can’t wait to meet this guy.  Is this the MacGyver you mentioned?  With the mullet?”

“Yeah.  He’s gonna make us some bullets, Clem.”

Marlowe stood up and limped over to Negan.  He pulled her to his lap gingerly. “You going to have a showdown in the middle of town with this ‘Rick the Prick’ guy? Shootout at the not-O.K. Corral?"

“Maybe.”  Negan kissed her fingers.  “Maybe I’ll just hang ‘em.”  

“Any chance for a more peaceful resolution? Can’t Nixon just go to China for this one?”

“You’re worried about me.”  Negan’s mouth broke into a broad smile.  “You’re actually fucking worried something will happen to me.”

“Why don't you gloat some more?”

Negan stood, setting Marlowe down for a second, then lifted her into his arms.  “Ha, ha, ha. My tough army officer is _shitting bricks_ worried I’ll come to a violent end.”

Marlowe put her hand on Negan’s chest, feeling his heartbeat.  " _These violent delights have violent ends. And in their triumph die, like fire and powder... Which, as they kiss, consume…”_

“Shakespeare.”  Negan laid her on the bed.  “You feel like we’re going to end like Romeo and Juliet?”

“I hope not.  Especially since we’re not teenagers.”

Negan laid down next to her.  “How’s the leg?”

“Hurts like a motherfucker.”

“Sorry, doll.  So what are you and Carson II: Electric Boogaloo working on?”

“A plan to train more medical personnel here.”

“That was quick.  You’re laid up on pain meds, nursing a hole in your leg.”

“Yes, but I now have super Negan blood coursing through my veins.  With great power comes great responsibility.”

“So you’re comparing getting my blood to being bit by a radioactive spider?”

“I wish.”

“You’re training more medical folks around these parts?”

“We have a dire need to, especially since you used my partner as a human s’more.”

Negan rolled to his side and put arm over Marlowe’s chest.  “I’d ask forgiveness, but that _was_ a shitty fucking thing.”

“You don’t say?”

“I gotta go in a minute.  I have an appointment with someone downstairs.  Hopeful new recruit. I’ve got David looking after her…”

Marlowe shoved Negan harder than she meant to.  “ _David?_ What the fuck?”

“Yeah, that creepy fucker that…”

“I thought…”  Marlowe bit her lip and shook her head.  “I assumed someone nailed that piece of shit.”

Negan sat up.  His voice was stern.  “You need to tell me what’s going on.”

Marlowe got off the bed, trying to ignore her the sharp pain in her leg.  “Get my cane and have your boys meet us on the factory floor.”

***

Marlowe leaned on Negan as she walked down the concrete steps.  She tried not to grasp his jacket so tightly, but she was shaking with anger and still light-headed from the pain medication.  A misstep would be quite painful.

As they descended the stairs, the Saviors began to kneel.  As promised, David with his caveman-like sloping brow ridge was front and center.  He was kneeling, his curly hair glistening with sweat.

“All right, up.”  Negan gestured with his bat.  

Marlowe stopped in the center of the horseshoe the men were making. To her right, she saw Laura.  They smiled and nodded at one another. Conversations were beginning to spill into the quiet.

Negan put a hand on Marlowe’s back.  “ _Quiet_ in this whorehouse! It’s come to my attention that one of you pieces of shit has disrespected a woman here,” Negan said, pacing.  He stopped in front of random men, making them drop their gaze to the floor. “Not only have you violated her, and possibly others, but what you did was assault.  Not to mention,” he stopped in front of David’s side. “Kidnapping.”

The men looked at one another.

Negan continued, leaning back and walking around.  “Now, _today_ is your fucking _lucky_ day, gentlemen.  I mean, fucking Ed McMahon is at your fucking house, catching you in your boxer shorts with a big, fucking check for a million dollars day.”  He stopped and stood in front of David. “Great news, you working girls.” He put a hand to his chest and cocked his head. “ _I_ will not punish you.”

Audible sighs passed through the crowd.

“Nope.”  Negan pointed a gloved finger around the room.  “I am _not_ going to take my belt off and whip a _single_ pimply ass today, boys. Abso- _fucking_ -lutely not.  Daddy is going to kick back and have his slippers and bourbon brought to him.” Negan turned to Marlowe and grinned, winking at her.

Marlowe hobbled over to Simon.  “May I?” She pointed at his holster.  

Simon took the revolver out and stuck a silencer on it as Marlowe shifted the cane to her right hand.  He handed her the gun by the grip and nodded.

Negan put Lucille over his shoulder.  “Now Mama, on the other hand... _Mama is pissed._  Ooh!”  He leaned back theatrically.  “She is about to have one of y’all outside, picking your own switch to get your hide tanned with.  One of you in here is about to get an ass beating.”

Marlowe cocked the .45’s hammer.  “I need everyone behind this curly-haired fuck to part like the Red Sea.”

The men stared wide-eyed at David, whose face turned red, beads of sweat beginning to appear on his forehead.  He put his hands up and took a step forward. “Hey, Boss.” He chuckled. “Hey, sir. I mean… you should uh… Boss?”

Negan whistled happily, leaning on his bat.  “You know the rules. This is not a divided house.”  He waved his hand back and forth. “If Mama grounds you, Daddy keeps to that.  You can’t play sides, Davey.”

David looked around.  “She’s got a gun. Simon, get your gun back, man.”

Simon smiles. “Oh, you are asking the _wrong_ motherfucker to be a character witness for you.  I’m actually betting you’re about to be tried by a _hanging_ judge.”

“ _Boss?_ ”  

Negan continued to lean on the bat, smiling like a man watching a woman take her clothes off.  

Marlowe stepped forward as David took a step back, eyes wide.  “Are you nervous? Oh, boy. Let’s see. ‘I am going to _tear you up.’_ Sound familiar?”

David kept glancing at Negan.

“Anyone have a camera?” Marlowe asked, keeping her eyes on David.  “I would really fucking love to have a picture of his face right now.”

David put his hands back up.  “Listen,” he laughed nervously.  “You don’t know José.  He’s crazy.”  David kept stepping away from Marlowe.  “He threatened me. Yeah, he...uh, he was going to hurt me.  I like you. I would never, uh…”

“Take a Polaroid of your dick in my mouth while I was out cold?”

Negan flew to be near Marlowe’s side.  “You fucking piece of…”

Marlowe put an arm out, holding Negan back.  “I got this.”

The shot was muffled by the silencer.  David pitched backward onto the floor. He screamed, grabbing his leg.  “Oh god! My _leg!_ You stupid fucking cunt.”

Marlowe walked over and handed the gun back to Simon, who leaned down and kissed her forehead.  

Negan took Marlowe’s arm.  “You ready to head back?”

Marlowe smiled.  “Not yet. Mama’s got a little something, and I do mean _little,_ for us to iron.”

Negan went to ready the furnace.

David laid on the floor in fetal position and screamed, tears pouring down his face.   

 


	12. "Always Make Your Nightly Inspection Before Closing"

Laura opened the shoebox on Marlowe’s bed.  “Okay, I have like, twenty different colors here.”

“Do you have red?”  Marlowe asked, picking hairs out of her brush.

“I thought you were a mauve girl?”

“Yeah.  I thought I’d try something different,” Marlowe said, thinking of Negan.

“I love the gel polishes but they’re hard to find.  Tried to find more on a run the other day. I _did_ find a stack of magazines with Justin Timberlake, David Beckham, and Prince Harry.  My childhood crushes!” Laura walked over to her bag and tossed it on the bed. “If you dig hard enough, you might find some of your guys.”

“Doubt it.”  Marlowe would be surprised if any of the issues had pictures of Malcolm Jamal Warner or Ice Cube.

Laura flipped through one of the magazines.  “Oh, here!” She opened the issue and tossed it to Marlowe.  “Check this out.”

Marlowe took the offering gladly.  It was an interview with Chiwetel Ejiofor and Laurence Fishburne analyzing the Shakespearean role of _Othello._ Complete with full color photos of the actors.  “So, I’m keeping this, in case I get lonely.” Marlowe winked at Laura.

Laura set the box of nail polishes on the nightstand and stretched out on the bed next to Marlowe.  She put her hand behind her head. “We should totally get some beer before we have our sleepover.”

Marlowe smiled and laid down next to Laura.  “You didn’t strike me as a sleepover girl.”

“Oh, hell yeah.  When I was a kid, that was the shit.  We’d watch ‘Powerpuff Girls’ and eat Go-Gurts and chicken nuggets.  How do you not eat chicken nuggets?”

“It’s just gross.  Like eating dog.” Marlowe dug some dirt from her nails.  

Laura turned on her side.  “Makes sense. Hey, I thought Buddhists didn’t join the army and have guns and all that?”

“It’s complicated.  I didn’t really become Buddhist until med school, then it felt disingenuous to re-enlist as a conscientious objector. Anyway, the Buddha often told a story about a ship’s captain who killed a serial killer on his ship in order to save the man from bringing anymore bad karma upon himself.”

Laura smiled broadly.  “Hey, that’s pretty cool.  I like that. You can be good, but still be a badass.”

“Yeah.” Marlowe looked at her altar.  There was a vase of fresh flowers on it, as there were every time she visited her room, which was rare lately.  “It is hard to reconcile living by those precepts and trying to live a life of compassion to all when the world is so violent.”

“See?  That’s the thing,”  Laura pulled her hair out its bun and ran her fingers through her blond waves.  “The world’s gone to shit and the rules don’t matter anymore.”

“I don’t know.  I think they still do apply. I struggle with that all the time now.  Things weren’t sunshine and puppies when the Buddha taught what he did.”

“Jesus though, what you did to David? That’s all the Saviors fucking talk about anymore.  But, yeah, it’s all whack now, for sure. Like, the other day, two dudes were fighting over a stash of money they found.  Like, cash isn’t a commodity now, you dicks. What the hell do you need a bunch of green for? All the titty bars are closed.”

Marlowe laughed.  “God, that’s why I love you.”

“You’re like my big sister.”

Marlowe sat up and picked at the skin around her nails.

“Oh man,”  Laura looked sad.  “I see I hit a sore spot.”

“Hmm?”

“Your _tell_.  Like a poker tell.  You pick at your nails when you’re trying to keep it together.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s your story, anyway?  I’ve told you everything about me.  You know about the foster homes and my mom’s boyfriend doing all that shit to me.  I’ve cried on your shoulder a bunch and you always make me feel like I’m special.”

“Laura, you _are_ special.”

“You are too, but I don’t think you know that.”

“Thanks, Laura.”

“You have _no_ idea how fucking pissed I was that you would just leave like you did.”  Laura looked away from Marlowe and scratched at her nose ring. “Like, my fucking parents left me.  Then you came along and acted like you cared, but then you were so quick to motor.”

“I’m sorry.  That was entirely the wrong thing to do.”

“I mean, like what’s so fucking great about where you were compared to here?”

Marlowe had to think carefully about her answer.  It didn’t seem prudent to say too much and risk her base.  “It’s a tight group. A pretty good-sized community. I felt...I _feel_ loyal to them. And I have... _had..._ someone.  Sort of.”

“How’d you wind up there?”

“Work. They’re co-workers.  We all had specific jobs to do.”  Marlowe stretched her legs out and flexed her feet.  “They trusted me with important missions. I was in charge of keeping everyone safe.”

“As their doctor?”

“One of.  I volunteered for a mission in order to gather data.  You know, go see what’s out there. Didn’t have anyone anymore.  There was nothing else to lose. So we ran across some trouble. I really thought the people who were supposed to have our backs would find us.  I think I’m expendable to them.”

“Maybe they can’t get to you?”

“They could.  I just think that they’ve had to cut their losses. The rest of the group didn’t make it, so it would be a waste of resources to find me.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”  Laura smiled at her.

“Me too.  It’s more...relaxing.  It’s a vacation from all the work.  And I have much more fun here.”

Laura put her legs over Marlowe’s.  “Would any of your old group have spent the time to find you and kill a whole group for you?”

“A couple of them.”  Marlowe suddenly felt guilty.  “I’m humbled and moved that you all thought enough of me to go on a search party.”

“It’s mutual.  You speak up. You’ve been fighting Negan to have stronger medical and dental care for all of us.  I heard you’re also trying to set up school for the kids that are here. You haven’t been here that long, but you’ve been advocating for all of us in a big way.”

“The cars won’t run forever.  Blacksmithing and animal husbandry, especially with horses, needs to be a priority.  We _need_ all of that.”

“You said ‘we’ again.”

Marlow thought for a moment.  “Indeed I did. I suppose I need to accept that I’m a Sanctuary resident at this point.”

“ _You’re_  a Savior.  You may not go out and fight and hustle with us, but you’re one of us.”

“We should get those beers now.”  

***

The door opened to a tall man with sad eyes.  “Hey, Miss Laura,” he drawled. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Laura walked right past him. “Need booze, Haircut.”

The man turned and followed her into the room.  “May I say I have a robust appreciation for the new hairstyle?  It shows a more relaxed, approachable demeanor on your part.”

“Hi.”  Marlowe shut the red door and stuck out her hand while Laura dug through the refrigerator.  

The man walked past her, following along behind Laura like a lost puppy.  “Please help yourself to my tasty beverages or fresh food items. As you can see, I have a nice selection of crudités…”

Laura turned and looked up at him.  “Croody- _whats_?”

“ _Crudités._  It is a French appellation meaning an _hors d'oeuvre_ usually of cut vegetables served with a sauce, such as…”

“Yeah, yeah, Haircut.  Me and my flygirl here need some hooch.  Oh,” Laura turned to Marlowe. “You haven’t met my new friend yet.  Mar, this is Haircut.”

“Actually,” the man said, looking over Marlowe’s head.  “The name ‘Haircut’ is a term of less-than endearment, a jocular sobriquet originated recently by the lovely Miss Laura.  It refers to my, as she puts it, ‘sweet mullet.’”

Marlowe felt her eyebrows raise as she tried to suppress her giggles.  “Do you have an authentic, actual name that you’re called?”

The man stared at her.  “Are you the noteworthy doctor of this collective?”

“Yes, one of two.”

“Well, then I am also Negan.”

Marlowe sighed.  “Do you have, you know, an actual _name_?”

The man stared at her, as if trying to understand her question. He shot a glance at Laura.

“Take it easy, Haircut.”  Laura popped the tops of two bottles.  “She’s cool. Not a narc for her boyfriend.”

“Eugene Porter, ma’am.”

“So you’re our chief engineer now?”

“That is correct. Formerly I was part of a ten-person team at the Human Genome Project to weaponize diseases to fight weaponized diseases.  Pathogenic microorganisms with pathogenic microorganisms. Fire with Fire. I worked directly under Dr. T. Brooks Ellis himself.”

 _What a crock of shit._ But Marlowe decided to have some fun. “Oh, Dr. Ellis. Yes. He and I presented together at the Centers for Disease Control some years ago.  I was doing a meta-analysis of major clinical studies of the Y-chromosome and its epidemiological effects on neurophysiology and adaptive mechanisms in the greater ape populations. Ellis and I had a great conversation over nachos about disease vectors and the rise of drug-resistant pathogens.  I had no idea his work in the nascence of the Internet was also related to epidemiology. We’ll have to talk soon. I’m totally interested in your work, Dr. Porter.”

Laura stood with the refrigerator door open, staring at Marlowe, her mouth open.  

When Eugene looked down at his feet, Marlowe exaggeratedly winked at Laura.  

“Well, I, uh… I mean, I don’t wanna bore an esteemed medical practitioner of your qualifications, Dr. Marlowe.”  Eugene wiped his hands on his shirt. Marlowe suspected they were sweaty.

Marlowe decided to go all out.  What difference would it make, as this man was clearly making up credentials out of whole cloth?  “Nonsense. A scientist such as yourself is a welcome reprieve from the pedestrian tête-à-têtes I’ve had of late.  Don’t be modest; I would love to discuss the work I did at NIH for Homeland Security with you. Let’s all sit.”

Laura, still looking befuddled, handed a home-brewed beer to Marlowe.  They sat on the edge of the well-made bed. Eugene turned a rocking chair around to face them.

“My friend here is genius-level,” Laura said to Eugene.

“That fact has been made abundantly clear,” Eugene said.

Marlowe decided to continue, to placate her sense of contrition.  He would call her “bluff,” being none the wiser, and she would be able to get some weight off her chest.  “I’m actually not an epidemiologist, but I was sent to NIH as part of an all-hands-on-deck initiative to study a Chikungunya mutation. ‘Garrett’s Plague,’ so named after the woman who first codified it.  It’s a viral adaptation to host: a proteome-based analysis of codon usage and amino acid preferences. Triplet codes in amino acids meant to render an estimated ninety-seven percent of the global population sterile.  It was a merry band of terrorists from around the world who saw themselves as ecological saviors, protectors of Gaia, Mother Earth. They dispatched a _cadre_ of patients zero to big cities in order to set off a pestilence bomb that would wipe humanity off the depleted teats of the world.” She took a breath.  “Aside from infecting us all with some ghoul germs, they got the sterility right. I’ve been tasked with investigating surviving patches of people, and look at not only mortality but birth rates, if any, and to bring back research…”  Marlowe looked at her bottle. “ _Samples._ ”

The three sat for several seconds, the only sound was Laura gulping her drink.  Marlowe decided to follow suit with her own.

“Tall tales and fish stories.”  Eugene took a long sip of his beer.

Marlowe’s shoulders relaxed and she was grateful he found her full of shit.  She _wished_ she was full of shit.  That would make it easier to sleep at night, rather than constantly feeling like a Tuskegee sympathizer.  Then again, her country _did_ have an extensive history of unethical biomedical research experimentation.  She felt like a cog in the machine. But after seeing the devastation of a plague first hand, and losing her family to it, Marlowe could _almost_ understand the drive by the unscrupulous historical researchers to find answers by whatever means necessary.  

Laura started laughing.  “You guys are funny. I’m not sure what the fuck y’all are talking about, but it’s funny.”  

Marlowe stared at the woman.  She loved Laura's broad smile, full lips, and perfect teeth.  If Marlowe was an artist, she would certainly paint this young woman, filled with sunshine and warmth.  The hard edges were there, to be sure, but at unguarded moments like this, Marlowe’s heart ached at what this girl could have done and who she’d be in another world.  Would she have furthered her education? Been happy toiling at a mall job on the weekends, with a level-headed dorm mate and a dependable car? Would Laura have studied toward a solid career, with no financial insecurities? Marlowe imagined she would have worked with children as a social worker or a teacher. She’d spend her vacations rock climbing and camping with friends, taking selfies and posting them to social media. She’d escape from work on Fridays for margaritas and giggles.  Eventually she’d marry and they’d live in a loft with a selection of musical instruments and rescue dogs. She’d have a daughter named “Artemis” or “Hele.”

“Hey, why the long face, Mar?”  Laura put her head on Marlowe’s shoulder.

“Is it that obvious?” Marlowe rued her lack of a poker face.

Just then Eugene said,  “Well I see you’ve both emptied your containers.  Would you ladies perhaps like another drink?”

“Yes,” the women said in unison.

“Very well.  I shall take your recyclables and bring you more refreshments.”

“ _I_ told _you,_ ” Laura whispered.  “He’s a little... _touched_.”

There was a knock at the door.  Laura sprang from the bed to answer it.

Marlowe listened as her friend stepped into the hallway.

“Okay, Gary.”  Laura came back in, putting her hair into a quick bun and securing it.  “Gotta run. It’s been swell, but the swellin’s gone down.” Laura walked over and Marlowe stood up to meet her.  They embraced. “I gotta meeting. Don’t let this guy rope you into watching him play video games for hours.”

“10-4,” Marlowe said.

***

Marlowe was on her third beer and her stomach began to regret the decision to drink with the pain meds she was still on.    

“You’re looking a little green, like you just watched someone eat pickles covered in Grade-A, Georgia-grown crunchy peanut butter.” Eugene turned from his Yars’ Revenge game and looked at Marlowe.

“Mmm.”  Marlowe propped herself up with some pillows, knowing if she laid back, her stomach would torpedo out vomit.  “Bout to Tommy Dorsey over here and die by inhaling my own puke.”

Eugene swiftly set down his controller and headed toward the kitchenette.  “Would you then care for a strong chaser of an eight-milligram tablet of ondansetron hydrochloride?  I happen to have some in my personal inventory due to the high amounts of alcohol I have been ingesting as of late.”

Marlowe closed her eyes.  “Just give me the fucking Zofran.  Dissolvable?”

“Indeed.”

“Huzzah.”

Eugene handed Marlowe the pill and stood over her, frowning, like a six-foot boy watching over his sick mother.  “Please describe to me any other actions I make take in order to make you more comfortable. In fact,” Eugene plugged in the oscillating fan near the bed. “Will this help?”

“Yes.  Greatly.”

“Then a thin sheet over you and cool air it is.”  Eugene took out some linens from a small cabinet and draped a tan bedsheet over her legs.  He turned back to face his television set, paused, and then went over to his nightstand. “I’m not sure what this creature is, but I’m convinced it is indeed a representation of the taxonomic order Pilosa, and the superorder Xenarthra, the common sloth.”

“Oh, this little crocheted guy is darling,” Marlowe said as Eugene placed the stuffie in the crook of her arm.  

“I have named him ‘Gremblygunk,’ as he is part gremlin.”

Marlowe sighed.  “This is very kind of you. Please don’t fuss over me anymore.  Enjoy your game.” She felt warmth toward the man, and the beginnings of a sisterly sense of protectiveness.  Marlowe suddenly didn’t want anyone taking advantage of this soul, and wondered if his earlier lies were a form of self-preservation in this harsh world.  

Eugene moved his rocking chair over to her.  “I take a personal satisfaction in tending to the needs of those around me.  Everyone has spoken highly of you, even though I understand you have not been here very long.”

“Maybe a month longer than you.”

“True.  And your predecessor met such a violent end.”

Marlowe held the crocheted toy to her chest.  “What do you mean?”

Eugene rubbed his cheeks roughly and looked everywhere but at Marlowe.  “I was there. Miss Laura was insistent I watch.”

Marlowe lifted her torso up more on the pillows.  “Watch _what_?”

Eugene began to cry.  “He got thrown in the fire.”  

“I know,” Marlowe said softly.

“That man who takes such a shining to you, he did it.  He did it with such astounding glee and delectation. Like this is all a game. I have never been as afraid…”  Eugene took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose. “That night at the RV. I lost two of my most treasured companions.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your boyfriend, or whatever he is to you.  He bashed my friends’ heads in. Made us watch.”

_Lucille._

“Eugene,”  Marlowe said, rendered utterly _tabula rasa._ “Oh, Eugene.”  She motioned for the man to lie down with her.  He complied, and laid his head on her chest. Marlowe threw an arm over him and as he became wracked with sobs. Marlowe’s leg ached, referred pain going all the way to her ankle, but she didn’t move.

After several minutes, Eugene slid a pillow from under Marlowe’s pile and laid flat on the bed.  He looked at the ceiling, interlacing his fingers into a prayer position. His tone was sober. “I am here because that was the worst moment of my life.  I do not want to feel that way again. I am here because it is less terrifying to help feed the lion, than to live in fear he will escape and come to my home.  Here I can watch him. I can know his position. I will never again have to kneel in the dirt, wondering what that bat would feel breaking my skin and bones.”

Marlowe watched him breathe.  She rolled over and put her hand on his arm.  “I’m sorry.”

“At this very moment I do not care what your relationship with that devil is.  I do not care that I have been instructed and drilled to keep any and all talk of what the Saviors do from this person Dr. Clementine Marlowe.  I have been threatened with bodily harm and torture to treat you like a porcelain doll that will break at the first unkind word. I have to keep all mission details from you.”

Marlowe had suspected as much.  “Why?”

“I suspect he would like to appear as the good guy, the protagonist of this fucked up story.  I do not understand why the cloak and dagger stratagem when he has a covey of beautiful wives who all seem to know the ins and outs of the Saviors’ mendacious business dealings.”

Marlowe caught a whiff of pickle juice on the man’s breath, making her stomach rumble in discomfort.  “All things considered, I believe we would be wise to keep a good bit of our conversations tonight confidential.  I don’t believe His Imperial and Royal Majesty, nor his _Grande Armée_ , need be privy.”

“Mum’s the proverbial word, ma’am.”

“You can just call me ‘Marlowe.’ Or Clementine.”

“Thank you.  However, in the company of the aforementioned Marquis de Sade, I prefer to refer to you simply as ‘Dr. Marlowe.’  I feel keeping up appearances is prudent in this situation.”

“Agreed.  Let's also keep one another’s fabrications and ‘tall tales and fish stories’ to ourselves.”

“Very well.”  

“So tell me about your video game interests?”

“They are nothing of note.  I dabble in various gaming system.  I much prefer the simplicity and challenge of an eight-bit console over the first-person shooter, ultra-rendered games of the more modern age.”

“ _Pong_ over _Halo,_  eh?”

“Precisely.  There is a hand-eye coordination and depth perception skill I find myself lacking in the newer games.  I do prefer the exhilaration of not being able to save a game. The single-screen platform is more conducive to my state of mind.”

“Gotcha.  I’m a master of classic _Castlevania_ myself, up to the fourth in the series.  Once the Nintendo 64 came out, I was hopelessly lost.”

“It’s the bats that get you, not the big baddies.”

“Oh, we are destined to be friends.”  Marlowe smiled for the first time since Laura left.

“Where do you think pop culture would be had we not succumbed to this outbreak?”

“I don’t know.  I do get weepy sometimes, knowing I’ll never hear a new David Bowie song, or buy another Foo Fighters record.”

“I like to imagine what George Lucas would have done had he his druthers and could make another _Star Wars_ trilogy.  Episodes seven through nine.  Finish the original characters’ stories.”

“Ugh, after the Dumpster fire of the prequels, I’m happy with Timothy Zahn novels and my imagination.”

Eugene chuckled.  “Think if Disney had bought the franchise and carried on?”

“Wow,” Marlowe said, raising her eyebrows.  “That is more fucking absurd than this whole disease apocalypse.”

“It could have happened.  We’d see Leia rise to the rank of general. She and Han would have children. Luke would open a training dojo for young Jedi.”

“‘Skywalker Padawan Camp and Womp Rat Rescue.’  Located on sunny Tatooine, in beautiful downtown Mos Eisley.”  Marlowe laughed at herself. “Lucas is too obsessed with his work to hand it over to the big filthy mouse, of all companies.”  

Eugene sighed.  “Yeah. Your prediction is most likely accurate.  He does seem to be unhealthily absorbed in his own properties.”

“I want to keep the trilogy pure, myself.  Put out the untouched original, warts and all.  Vaseline under the landspeeders. Han shot first.  The whole shebang.”

“I cannot argue with your conclusion.”

Marlowe and Eugene stayed up for another hour, sharing everything from which films scared them as children (Eugene saying _ET_ and _Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory_ ; Marlowe sharing hers, the miniseries “‘Salem’s Lot” and “The Day After”) to their favorite pizza toppings.

Marlowe dozed off with her head on Eugene’s shoulder.  After a time, and a dream about Negan dressed as Gene Wilder and bashing Oompa Loompas with his bat, Marlowe heard someone knocking.  She feigned still being asleep as Eugene snored abruptly awake. She heard him pad across the floor and turned the knob.

“Sir,” Eugene said.

Marlowe sobered up and her heart pounded, knowing who the midnight caller was.  She pulled sheet over her quickly and buried head into the pillows.

Negan’s voice boomed. “Get a fucking haircut. Looks like your mother fucked a monkey.”  His footsteps got closer. “ _Oh_ ,” he whispered. “ _Didn’t realize you had company over there. I...am...astounded.  I guess girls do sometimes go for brainiacs_.”

“Yes, sir.  I am, at times, capable of having a woman in the company of my bed.”

“Well, look...at...you.  I did not know you had it in you.  I am sorry. I took you for a little… asexual.”

“No sir.  Quite the opposite in fact.”

“Well, do not let me cockblock you for another second.  You dip your wick all you want, just be ready for the morning when we roll out for to pay a visit to your people.  I hope the welcome mat is out and it’s open bar day.”

“Yes, sir.”

Marlowe heard the door start to shut.  

“Oh,” Negan said.  “Have you seen our illustrious Dr. Marlowe?  Laura told me the last place she was was here with you both.”

“I would imagine our local physician would be asleep at this hour.  I hear she is still recovering from a gunshot wound.”

Negan’s tone became serious.  “She is. Which is even more reason she needs to _rest_ , and to be well-cared for. I have eyes all over, and it’s a priority she is safe and protected.”

“Of course.  She is responsible for the wellbeing of our community.”

Marlowe heard what she assumed was Negan Eugene’s back.

“Glad we have an understanding, Eugene.”  His voice lowered. Marlowe could imagine him leaning in to invade Eugene’s personal space, with Eugene looking quite nervous.  “I would _hate_ to be the man who crossed me by not letting my darling Clementine get some R &R.  Any...little... _stress_ would hinder her health.”

“Mmm.”  Eugene said in the affirmative.

“Great.”  Negan’s tone brightened.  “I’m sure all is well and everyone will be in their own beds tonight, sleeping soundly.”

The door shut loudly.

Marlowe quickly got up, hugged Eugene, who hadn’t moved since Negan was in the room, and quietly began to sneak back to her room.


	13. “Turning Saints Into the Sea”

_For Scott Wilson, fellow Southerner.  Always gentle and kind._

_We love you.  Always._

_And for Al.  Always my Devil Dog. You are missed._

 

As seemed to be her new habit, Marlowe tried to keep her breath smooth, like she was still sleeping.  Thankfully, her back was to the door when he came in. She knew it was him by his soft footsteps. She listened as he changed out the flower vases on her altar.  Marlowe wasn’t sure how she felt about seeing him. and hoped he'd leave, thinking she was still asleep.  

No such luck.

“ _Baby?  Baby, are you up?_ ” he whispered.

Marlowe pulled down the comforter and pulled her long hair that had crept like kudzu around her face  and neck as she slept. She sat up on the bed and grabbed a mint from the nightstand to freshen her mouth.  “Yes.”

Negan rubbed his smooth face and watched her.  He was wearing his jacket, glove, and red scarf.  His war scarf. He sat on the bed near her hip and took her hands.  

Marlowe’s head throbbed as she watched the man search for his words.  

“We are not monsters,” he said softly.

“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”

“I brought one of them breakfast just before I came here.” Negan sighed.  “They’re animals.”

“Who?  Alexandria?  This Rick fellow?”

“I just wanted to see you before we go.  I have a delivery to make.”

“Take me with you.”

“I can’t.  I can’t have you hobbling around, vulnerable.  That’s how you get... hurt. My job is to protect you.”

“ _My_ job is to protect me.”

“How have you been feeling?”

“Some back pain, low-grade fever here and there.  No energy. Won’t be running a marathon anytime soon.”

Negan smiled thinly.  “You need to get that shit checked out with Carson.”

“It’s transfusion side effects, surely.”

“That’s my strong girl.  Sorry, _woman_ .  Still, you _gotta_ let me look out for you.”  Negan held up one of Marlowe’s hands and inspected it, running a thumb over each finger.  “I’m thinking of moving us. Maybe install us in a house in the suburbs.”

“You _have_ to be joking.  This place is fortified.  The suburbs? Are you kidding…”

“I’m not.”  

Negan looked into Marlowe’s eyes and she felt her breath catch in her chest.  Everything he did, everything he probably would do, all the contempt and anger she felt, but a roll of the genetic dice, pheromones, whatever, and her body responded.  

“I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you lately.  I have to admit, I was disturbed by what you did to rapey Davey.  I worry about you. Part of why I think we should move. This life isn’t for you.  You don’t need to be gettin’ shot and ironing dicks.”

Marlowe raised her eyebrows.  “So I’m just a porcelain doll, easily broken?  You need to move me to the ‘burbs and put an apron on me and babies in my belly?”

“That’s not…”  Negan sighed and dropped her hands.  “I don’t know. All this shit that goes on, and what happened to you made me re-evaluate some things.”

“You took a bat to Eugene’s friends’ heads.  Smashed them like cantaloupes.”

“ _He_ told you that?”

“Eugene’s too meek to tell tales out of school.  We’re _all_ Negan, right?  The rats in the walls have big ears, and even bigger mouths.  It’s not exactly a state secret. People talk.”

“They’re animals.  They killed my…”

“Yes.  They killed your people.  That doesn’t mean you take glee in hurting them.  Run things like a general, but understand your strategies.   _Your_ strength is an accident that comes from the weaknesses of others.”

“You don’t know what it’s like to have these people’s lives on my plate.” He tone was not angry, but said with a sad weight, a despair.

“You think I _don’t_ know?  Me, of _all_ fucking people?   _I_ don’t understand having the burden of keeping troops safe, to make split-second decisions to keep the upper hand?  You are utterly mistaken.”

“Clem, I didn’t mean it.”

“What are we _doing_ here, Negan?  We’re dancing around this.  You treat me like a prized possession, unable to have the veil of secrecy lifted.  It’s all a magic trick with you, a conjuring. You set me up with these ordinary things, dangling the thought of romance and safety in front of me like a carrot to the horse.  It seems real, but it isn’t. I’m the audience. I _know_ it’s fake.  It’s all sleight of hand and deceit.  But I _want_ to believe it.  What's the prestige though?  What are you bringing back to me?  Are you sawing me in half and putting me back together?”

Negan breathed hard.  “I don’t know. I keep to myself when this jacket’s off.  No amount of cigars, booze, and poker would make me tell my boys what I’ve told you.  I don’t exactly have friends. With you, I don’t have to have on this fucking magician costume.  I’m not having to hold my breath underwater in a tank while I take the chains off. I’ve never fucking had that in my life. Ever. You learn to lie.  You learn to _live_ in deceit.  My old man would beat the shit out of me if I didn’t walk his line.  I learned to contort myself to stay under his radar. I don’t even fucking know myself anymore. I haven’t in a while.  Everywhere I walk is paved with death. Do you think grief can cause a disease? A cancer? You’re a doctor. Tell me. You think fucking grief can make your body revolt and grow abnormal cells?  Fuck, eating doughnuts and smoking cigarettes can. Why can’t _pain?_ My wife, my beloved wife, she had grief every fucking day.  You know why? Because _I am a worthless sack of shit_ .  All the times I came home with another woman’s smell on my dick...it was _never_ about her.  It was _never_ that Luci… that my _wife_ was deficient.  It. Was. Me. It was me looking at myself.  I tried to blow up our marriage. I knew she’d leave me eventually.  I knew she’d see through my... magic tricks. She’d get tired. My own fucking father hated me. Why is this beautiful, fucking wonderful, saintly woman going to see any different?  Now I got a fucking piece of wood in her honor, saving me from any number of deaths I deserve.”

Marlowe’s eyes burned. She breathed in heavily to quit the tears from forming. She crawled to him and wrapped her legs around his waist, taking his his face into her hands.  She kissed his forehead.

Negan bent over and rested his face on her bosom.  

Marlowe stroked his hair.  “Don’t go. Don’t leave. Stay here.  Whatever business you have with Alexandria, leave it Simon.  Stay with me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“It’s on me.  It’s on my head.”

“Baby, you don’t send the _generals_ to combat theatre.  You don’t march the battlefield with your men.”

“I have to.”

“Then come back here when it’s done. Come find me.”

***

Mid-morning, Marlowe finished convening with Harlan Carson about her symptoms and the general state of the patients of the Sanctuary.  After a long lecture about avoiding alcohol, Marlowe thanked the doctor and headed outside for a walk inside the perimeter.

The sun was shining as she took her time, leaning on the cane.  Her leg was already feeling better, she imagined due to the Muay Thai boxing and weight training she had done for years.  It still hurt as she put weight on it, but not unbearably so.

Marlowe thought about her conversation with Negan.  She knew that if he was ordinary, if he was not as physically attractive, she would see him for what he was.  Her old feelings of giving a pass to those who are broken were cropping up. She knew from years of therapy that she didn’t necessarily want to _fix_ others in her life, but she let them slip through her boundaries.  The women who raised her had a “men can’t help it” paradigm they tried to pass onto her.  

Growing up, most of Marlowe’s friends were boys, if only because they shared interests.  She had wanted action figures and a bed shaped like a car, not a new Barbie or an Easy Bake Oven.  Her grandmother made her take ballet, but wouldn’t pay for karate lessons. She had to be feminine and soft, forgiving.  She had to be a Southern belle who would smile and please others. The right church and the right boy were right around the corner.  Her dreams had to revolve around her future children and perhaps getting a certificate to work part time in a nursing home or do something with kids.  Men needed care, too, just as small children. They needed to be cooked for, cleaned up after, and not neglected. A husband with a roving eye or his hand raised was owed to his wife’s incompetence.  Men hurt you and men were unreliable. All of them.

At least Negan was always Negan, Marlowe thought.  He never lied to her. He withheld truths, but he never lied.  He kept her safe and demanded others do the same. He’d cast off his harem for her, and she had slipped through his walls to find the real man inside.  

Or had she?  

Marlowe stopped walking in front of the fence and considered her position.  Here she was, fast becoming (or had become?) a permanent resident at this colony.  She knew either her microchip had malfunctioned or she was deemed expendable.

She imagined Dr. Preston, her colleague who had become her lover, at a meeting with the reconnaissance heads.  His dark brown skin would be glistening with sweat as he railed in her defense, arguing with a loud voice, eschewing his lifelong British calm.  She could see in her mind his eyebrows coming into a V as he grew angrier.  He had lost his wife and children to the outbreak in the foreign land of America, and would not lose his Clementine.  He would pace, as he did, wiping his hand across his scalp. He would stop walking at times, turning to the commanders, and consider and reconsider his words before he spoke, using his psychiatry training.  

Preston would find a way, Marlowe told herself.  Even though they had argued heavily the last few days before she left, as he wanted her to stay, he would champion a search party.  He would perhaps even go with the team, which Marlowe hoped not. Preston had been a decorated member of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces, but as a pencil-pushing psychiatrist.  In combat, he had slept in air conditioning and had his food brought to him from the D-Fac. Earlier in his life, he had passed out during the gorier moments of his medical residency at King’s College London, and had been glad to graduate to sipping Earl Grey as he dispensed duloxetine and trazodone to soldiers.  He called his flat manager to fix basic plumbing, and had left it to his wife to handle car maintenance, preferring to work on his quiche recipes. Marlowe adored him for it, but the thought of him leaving the base made her stomach turn.

Yes, he was not Negan.  He would never take up arms to defend her, surely, preferring to negotiate with reasoning and long words. He always asked her permission to make sexual overtures.  He often surprised her with little loaves of sweet dairy-free breads with currants or berries. He was soft spoken and held doors for others. His smile was rather innocent, deceptively so.  He seemed milquetoast, despite running away to Boston to search for his wife, who had left him for an American boyfriend, taking their two sons with her. He had lost her there during the beginnings of the plague, watching her and their children die.  Contemplating suicide, Preston had gotten picked up by some airmen from Hanscom AFB. Once learning he had training as a medical doctor, he was drafted.

Marlowe looked at the ghouls staggering through the fenced-in yard.  She wondered about their stories in past lives as part of humanity. Were their people still looking for them?  How had they wound up here? She found herself walking toward a growling, gaunt walker with a tan tee shirt and camo ACU pants.  He was tied to a corner of the fence. His dark skin was faded to a light purple-brown, and his thickly-textured hair had bald patches.  The ghoul’s sunken eyes and features made her gasp.

Marlowe got closer as the ghoul watched her, showing his teeth.  One of his arms kept reaching for her. She _made_ herself look at it, _made_ herself grab his fingers through the chain-linking to hold his arm in place.

There it was, on the outside of his forearm.  Despite the sun and desiccation of his corpse, she saw it, even darker now against his faded skin.  The tattoo was an eagle on top of a globe, an anchor underneath. Marlowe cried out as she roughly flipped the corpse’s hand over.  The inside of his forearm had faded ink as well. _USMC Semper Fidelis._

 _Apone._ It was Sergeant Alex-fucking-Apone.  He had done the heavy-lifting on her recon mission.

She was his lieutenant and responsible for his life  

Marlowe dropped to her knees, letting the cane crack against the pavement.  She threw up on the concrete, stomach retching violently. The smell of the previous night’s beer and the morning’s fruit bowl and oatmeal mixed in her nose and she vomited up even more.  

“ _Oh, god,_ ” she cried out.  “God _help_ me.   _Please.  Fucking help_ me.”  

Marlowe lay on her side, next to her own sick, knees under her breasts.  She let herself cry and scream. She would allow herself time to mourn, then she would begin her new mission.  


	14. "Wasted and Wounded"

_“Speak to me in Yoruba.” Marlowe whispered.  She knew Preston was smiling even though the lights were out._

_“O di ãrọ,” came Preston’s reply._

_“Go to fucking sleep yourself.  You got a big day tomorrow or something?” Preston kissed Marlowe’s neck as she moaned.  “Don’t try to distract me, loverboy.”_

_Between kisses Preston spoke to her.  “Why...do you...want to learn? It’s not like….we’re going to Nigeria soon.”_

_"I want to know you, Ahdeh.  I want to speak your mother tongue.”_

_“Mmm...my mother tongue is the Queen’s English.”  Preston pulled back the covers and held Marlowe’s rib cage in his hands while his mouth explored her torso._

_“Oh, god.  Whatever tongue it is...god_ damn.   _I wish you’d let me do this to you.”_

 _“It’s weird. My wife_  hated  _doing that.  I'm too self-conscious now._ ”

_“Whatever.”  Marlowe started panting.  "Oh, god.  Oh, please...yes."_

_“Mo nifẹ rẹ.”_

_“Whatever you just fucking said, yes. I feel the same.”_

_Preston gently opened Marlowe’s thighs and lowered his head.  “Mo nifẹ rẹ. Mo nifẹ rẹ lailai.”_

 

Marlowe woke up shaking and clammy.  The dream about Preston was surreal and didn’t help her state of mind. Her time with him felt like  another life, even though it hadn’t been too long ago she’d been in his arms.  Her pillow and hair were drenched in sweat.  Her stomach turned. She needed something dry, like crackers, but didn’t feel like getting up to let Donnie know.  He was probably asleep at his post outside her door, anyway. With Negan and his men away, the proverbial mice would play.  

She tried to go back to sleep, but the gnawing came back.  It wouldn’t be long before she was dry-heaving again. Thinking about her walk that morning didn’t help matters.  She and Apone had gotten separated when they were ambushed on the road with the others. She had lost sight of him, but by his screams and the sounds she knew he was being killed.  Marlowe had tucked herself into a brush and waited until night to come out, and by then any trace of the outlaws was gone. She had walked over the bodies of several of her men, finding them picked clean of boots, weapons, and, food.  Apone was only the one she couldn’t find, and part of her had held out hope he was alive, looking for her or headed back to the rendezvous point to return to base. She never imagined she find him like a scarecrow, the back of his head bashed in.    

Marlowe rolled over, off the bed, and hobbled to the door.  She was going to order lunch from her door whore Donnie, and then go see a friend.

***

In the enclosure Marlowe was surrounded by the goats, with Luna and her baby Sirius at her side.  She was feeding them treats of pumpkin seeds, which the Sanctuary thankfully had a surplus of.

“Ooh, look at these babies,” Marlowe cooed, enjoying the pain meds in her system that had allowed her to walk the back trail to the animals.  “Who are my sweet little friends? Huh? Luna-Tuna, who are all these precious friends?” Marlowe leaned down and scratched Luna’s ear. Luna responded with a hearty bleat. She was rewarded with more seeds.

Marlowe couldn’t believe how big Sirius had gotten.  He stayed by his mother’s side, taking a drink from her teat between snacks.  Luna sat down near Marlowe’s bench to chew some grass. As soon as she put her belly to the ground, Sirius was on her, frollicking on her body and head-butting her.  Luna was a patient mother and nuzzled the kid back.

Marlowe sat down on the bench and watched the goats.  It was what she most looked forward to every day. The sun was shining on her, warming her legs. She looked down at her thigh, and pulled up the loose hem of her shorts to look at her stitches. The wound was small and look like thick black hairs were growing out of her leg.  She looked forward to having the sutures out. In an odd way, she was excited to more scars, a reminder of what she had accomplished. She knew it was pathological, perhaps, but it was the same reason her sister had kept returning to tattoo shops.  They both had craved some control over their bodies that they had missed in a volatile childhood.

She laid along the bench, resting the cane on her body, and let the sun continue to warm her.  Trying not to think about anything of importance, Marlowe closed her eyes and felt her breath. Nothing mattered at the moment.  There were no decisions to make, no risk analyses to be considered. Apone was gone and nothing could bring him back. She was there, in this place.  She had to breathe in goodness and peace, and breathe out the worry and the confusion. _Que será, será_ , it was a good enough mantra for her meditation. _Whatever will be, will be._ Live in the present, in the breath.   _The future’s not ours to see._

 _J_ _ust_ be _,_  Marlowe thought.   _Let everything go, Clementine._

Marlowe let her breath move in and out as she relaxed her body.  She had to accept her situation. Dwelling on choices she’d made, what she could have done differently to keep her team from getting jumped, was futile. No amount of hand-wringing and self-flagellation would bring those men back.  She had to focus on the now. She had to be able to accept whatever she found out about _how_ Apone had wound up a decoration on Negan’s front lawn.  

Marlowe listened to the goats moving around, still feeling Luna’s presence near the bench.  She reached over and ran her hand over the doe’s thick coat, stopping to scratch spots she knew Luna liked.  Sirius got jealous and ran his head under Marlowe’s hand, making her rub him instead. His little bleats make her smile.  

Hearing the sound of trucks in the distance, she knew the Saviors were back.  She let the sound go past her thoughts, and continued to focus on her breath. Nothing she did or didn’t do at the moment would change a thing.  The best thing for her was to be on the bench, petting goats and soaking up the sunshine.

After a time, the gate opened.  Marlowe sat up to see Laura walking ahead of Gary.  The goats started bleating loudly.

“Shut the fuck up,”  Laura said. “God, it smells back here.”

“Hey,” Marlowe said, putting her cane on her lap.

“If I step in goat shit, you owe me, mama.”  Laura said.

Marlowe rolled her eyes.  “Sure thing. I’ll go on a run and get you some Justin Timberlake CDs.”

Gary laughed and turned to Laura.  “Timberlake? Ugh, you need better taste in music.”

Laura flipped him off.  “Seriously, Mar. You want to play Barbies and drink tea with Eugene some more?  He seems hurt to you but he’s guilty. That’s how he feels. Guilty.  It’s why he seems so terrified of Negan. He knows they did wrong.  But our gang’s back from the field trip.  Wanna hear what Eugene’s little group did _this_ time?”

Marlowe braced herself on the cane and stood up.  “Shoot.”

“So…” Laura said.  “I don’t even know where to start with the shit that went.  First of all, Boss got attacked by a tiger.”

“What the fuck?”  Marlowe looked at Laura for a moment, chewing her lip.  

Gary stepped forward.  “Yeah,” he rubbed his head.  “There was an actual, real life, tiger.  It came outta fucking nowhere.”

“You were ambushed by a _tiger_?”

Laura nodded.

“Shut the gate behind me.”

***

“I said he's not answering, so unlock the door..”

J.D. looked up at Marlowe.  “Hey, I just do what I’m told.  I’m just a working girl. I ain’t about to get my ass...”

Marlowe stepped into J.D.'s personal space, and he backed two steps.

"Look, I ain't got the key."

Marlowe stood over him, listening to Johnny Cash’s cover of “Hurt” blaring through Negan’s door.  “Get me a bobby pin then. You do _have_ one for your luscious hair, don’t you?”

“Naw.”

“Don’t sass me, boy. Go find a bobby pin, or a paperclip.”

J.D. threw his book down, a dog-eared copy of _Twilight_ , and headed down the hallway.

Marlowe paced in front of Negan’s door, rolling her eyes hearing the song begin again.  

_“What have I become_

_My sweetest friend_

_Everyone I know_

_Goes away in the end_

_And you could have it all_

_My empire of dirt_

_I will let you down_

_I will make you hurt..”_

“Took you long enough,” Marlowe snatched the paperclip from J.D.’s fingers.  “Back up and give me some room, Jeeves.” Marlowe bent the tool precisely, then stuck it into the lock.  The first pin popped. Marlowe wiggled it again. Second pin....and the knob turned in Marlowe’s hand. She gestured for J.D. to stay outside and he shrugged, picking up his tented book from the floor.  

Inside, Negan was lying on his bed, on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling.

“You should at least take off your boots.”

“I want to be alone.”

“If that was the case, you should have been playing Smash Mouth, not Johnny Cash.”

“It’s been a long day.”

“So I heard.”  Marlowe turned down the speaker volume and skipped some songs on the CD.  “Here we go. Much better.” The song started and Marlowe walked slowly to the bed and laid down next to Negan.

_“There are places I'll remember_

_All my life, though some have changed_

_Some forever, not for better_

_Some have gone and some remain_

_All these places have their moments_

_With lovers and friends I still can recall_

_Some are dead and some are living_

_In my life, I've loved them all_

_But of all these friends and lovers_

_There is no one compares with you…”_

“Maybe I didn’t want to listen to this.”  Negan continued to stare at the ceiling.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t sulk like a kid in time-out.”

Negan turned and looked at her like he’d never seen her face before, like he was trying to memorize every feature, every freckle. His jacket was off and his grey tee shirt had sweat stains under the arms.

Marlowe put her hand on his face and stroked his five o’ clock shadow.  He looked older today, she thought. She touched one of his grey sideburns, then ran a hand over his slicked-back hair.  

Negan took her wrist in his hand.  “Your wrist is so tiny,” he mumbled. “It could break so easily.”  He looked into her eyes again. “You’re fragile.” Negan put his first and middle fingers to her wrist, just under the base of her thumb. He closed his eyes and sighed.  “I feel it. I feel your heartbeat. But you can’t live with your fingers always on your pulse. That’s not living, that’s just _surviving_.  You deserve better.”

At that moment, Marlowe smelled the bourbon on his breath, noticed the red, glassy eyes.  

“And this,” Negan kissed her wrist suddenly.  “This is one of the darkest, bleakest fucking places on earth.  I don’t know that I can save my people anymore. Maybe I’m just too  _distracted_ right now to be any damned good to them. Darkness was truly visited upon me today.”

“What happened?”

“What….happened.  Hmm.” Negan looked back at the ceiling, still taking slow, deliberate movements.  “What happened was, we been kicking other peoples asses for so long, I figured it's time we got ours kicked.”  Negan stared off into space. “You know I hate, detest, and can't bear a lie, not because I am better than the rest of the world, but simply because it appals me. There is a taint of death, a taste of mortality in lies.  That’s exactly why I hate and detest in the world, death, what I want to forget. That widow Maggie is still alive. After those assholes told me she was dead. Showed me her grave. I can’t believe anything anymore. From anyone.”

“And truth always sounds like lies to a sinner.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. Forget it.  Heard you had a run-in with a zoo exhibit.”

“I fucking _did_ .”  He slurred his words.  “That motherfucking _cat_ tried to end me.  I was bringing this Sasha woman back and she fucking attacked me.  Shit, she killed Roy. The fuckers all jumped us.”

“Jesus,” Marlowe whispered.  

“I ain’t been that mad in a _long_ time.”  Negan started singing along to the album.  

_“Don’t you draw the Queen of Diamonds, boy_

_She'll beat you if she's able_

_You know the Queen of Hearts is always your best bet_

_Now, it seems to me some fine things_

_Have been laid upon your table_

_But you only want the ones that you can't get_

_Desperado, oh, you ain't gettin' no younger_

_Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home_

_And freedom, oh freedom, well that's just some people talkin'_

_Your prison is walking through this world all alone...”_

Marlowe frowned and waited for him to stop singing.  “We need to regroup and figure this Alexandria thing out.”

“There ain’t _shit_ to figure out. They’ve killed my men.  Tried to kill me. That boy, Carl Wayne Gacy, stowed away and showed up here, killing every _more_ of my goddamned men.  I wanted to play beer pong with that little serial killer’s eye hole. But I took him back.  Made his fucking spaghetti. Then, that fucking redneck escaped, killing a man. They sicced a fucking circus animal on me.  Killed _more_ men.  There is _not_ anything to talk about.”  Negan grabbed a bottle off his nightstand and sat up enough to take a swig, then laid back onto his pillow.  “Pain don’t end the world. Or getting fucking beatings from your dad or any man. The world ends when you’re dead. Until then, you got more punishment in store. Stand it like a man, and give some back.  I indeed to give those fuckers at Alexandria more than their share back.”

Marlowe rolled over, half sat-up, and took Negan’s face in her hands.  “Pull it together.” He looked at her with sad eyes, and at that moment, Marlowe could almost see what he must have looked like as a young boy.  “Your tactics leave a lot to be desired.”

Negan sighed and batted her hands from his face.  He turned away from her.

“This shit is going to get worse.  They’ll be here. I know the routine. This is a an asymmetric engagement right now.  This Rick is building morale and soon the guerillas, insurgents are whatever you want to call them, are going to have their fists in our assholes, without a courtesy reach-around.  You’ve lost ground. By everything I’ve heard, you had Rick and his merry band of murderers looking under their beds at night. Not so much now. Something has emboldened them. You gotta stop prissing and preening and acting like a fucking _débutante_ at the cotillion.  When you're sober, we'll talk.”

Negan sat up and rubbed his forehead.  “And what do you, oh Delphic Oracle of wisdom, have to say?”

Marlowe sat up, wincing at the tightness in her thigh.  She propped a pillow under her knee. “We absolutely have to be smart and efficient with our people and our armaments.  We need to look for ordnance and use it well. Now the problem of Eugene. I absolutely do not believe we can trust that man.  You’ve allowed him _carte blanche_ to walk the facility and learn all of our secrets.  That was a poor plan. He is not one of us.”

“Go on.”

“We need to get Alexandria at a severe disadvantage.  We need to cut them off from Hilltop and the Kingdom. Divide and conquer.  This Gregory at Hilltop is a worm but he’s a useful tool. A weak leader. You keep allowing Alexandria to get the drop on us.  We have no idea where that pig fucker José is, and he’s probably over there, sucking Rick’s dick and handing him our shoes sizes and floor plans.”  Marlowe’s leg began to hurt, so she got up and stretched. “You need to think long-range, political changes, not necessarily winning battles.  The element of surprise. Simple, to the point commands and tactics. What are the goals, long and short? Securing resources? Expansion? What is our clear objective?  We need to not only deplete their forces and their wills. We can’t blow our wad on being on the offensive.  Yeah, sneak attacks and surprise, but not to the detriment of our own resources.”

“So how does this work?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Marlowe said, pointing a finger up theatrically.  “We need to get everyone on board. Every man, woman, and child. Build morale, up the points.  Up the points even more for the loyal folks.”

“So give out even more points to these lazy fucks?  Let them buy whatever they want?”

“Yup.  Kiss hands and shake babies.  What’s the buy-in for the community members, the investment?  How can we get everyone in this sweat factory to nut all over your plans to take Alexandria?   _Everyone_ needs to have a modicum of preparedness and are ready to act.  This means we step the fuck up with medical training. We need a unity of effort and unified command.  Period. Less is more. Learn the art of brevity and don’t give anymore fucking monologues. Everyone from you to Simon to my little herd of goats needs to have the same goals, and the same motivation.  Morale, morale, morale. This has to be _seamless._  We’ve gotta knock Rick back onto his ass and make his people lose their resolve.  Ideally, we’d help them lose their trust of _him_ as a leader.  You told me some Spencer guy was just ready to usurp him?”

“Yeah, dirty deeds at that place.  Bunch of lying back-stabbers.”

“Hmm.  And no provocation, they just attacked our outpost and wiped everyone out, preemptively?”

“Indeed they fucking did,” Negan said through clenched teeth.  “Made a fucking laughingstock of me with all the communities.”

“There you go again.  Hubris. Ego. Get rid of it.  I can’t imagine Rick’s dick is bigger than yours, but if it is, I’ll shake his mama’s hand and tell her, ‘No thanks, but that’s _too_ much.'”

Negan smiled and chuckled.  “Anything else, Sun Tzu?”

"We have to get rid of the cat. I don’t fucking know.  Have a luau or something. It’s unfortunate but they are using much-needed resources, clearly, to keep the poor beast feed.  Feed our people with it, and use the fur and anything else as resources. And I don’t fucking want to know _dick_ about what happens to it. The thought of hurting the poor thing hurts my heart.  Just start taking away their toys until they behave.  Take the fucking hinges off their doors and don't let them have dessert.  Take it all away until they know nothing in life is free.  They want to act like animals, so be it.”

“Fine.  Let me shower and sober up, then you and me will have a meeting with the people. We’ll get the band back together and let ‘em know we are goin’ to war.”   


	15. "Every Day is Like Sunday"

“I love this place at night, the stars. There's no right or wrong in them. They're just there.” Negan took a sip of his beer and stared over the rooftop.

“It is a lot clearer since we don’t have a million cars on the road anymore.”

“Hmm. Yeah.”

“It’s nice to see you in a flannel shirt, rather than that smelly jacket.” Marlowe adjusted the pillow she was sitting on. “God, these canvas chairs are uncomfortable.”

“Sorry the rooftop doesn’t have Ikea fucking furniture or whatever the fuck. And my jacket does _not_ smell.”

“It sure as shit does. It’s like dead bovine, with a rich bouquet of old beans, and notes of man sweat.”

“You like the man sweat.”

“True, but god _damn_. Can’t you just wear chainmail instead?”

Negan laughed. “So you still want me to grow the man bush back out?”

“Not a bush, but some facial hair is nice. And it would go well with the flannel...completes the whole lumberjack thing you got going on right now.”

“Why do you think you can just sashay in here and start giving me orders?” Negan put a hand on her knee and squeezed it gently.

“I like to repay people who are good to me by busting their balls.”

“The one thing I’ve never being accused of is ‘being good.’”

“You are. You’re a dick sometimes, but I see your heart. It’s in the right place.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Yeah, in your dresser drawer in a jar, next to your chokeball and anal beads.”

“Jesus, woman. You need your mouth washed out. I just don’t know how I feel about how you act and talk sometime. I like my women feminine. Dressed up. Delicate.”

“Bullshit.”

“No. You saw how I liked my women to dress.”

“You’re killing the mood, boss.”

“You do _not_ like being told what to do.”

“Do you?”

“That’s different.”

“I don’t want to get into sexual politics with you. I can see past your misogyny and your Neanderthal ways most of the time, but then it slaps me in the face like a cold fish.”

“Hmm. Misogyny is not something I would say about myself. I keep strict rules here about how women are treated.”

“And yet you basically raped those ‘wives’ and enslaved them.”

Negan sat up and put his beer on the ground. “Let’s get something straight. I do not nor have I ever raped anyone.”

“Coercion. Same thing. You can’t threaten a woman into sex.”

Negan was silent for a moment. He breathed in heavily and said, “Let’s thumbtack that to the bulletin board and add it to next week’s therapy session. Now _you’re_ killing the mood, woman.”

“Fine. So tell me about your ink?”

“The tatts? Okay. Got a bunch in college and then when I was a teacher. Nothing much to tell. Some is just wall shit. You know the tattoo art on the walls when you walk in?”

“The flash art.”

“Whatever. Not original but looked like something a bad boy would do. Women like bad boys.”

“It’s all about sex with you.” 

“Not completely. Check this out.” Negan rolled up his flannel shirt and showed Marlowe his right forearm. _Bisou._ “It’s French.”

“Something about kissing? Like _besos_ in Spanish?”

Negan nodded.

“See? All about the physical with you.”

“Nope. It’s _friendly_ kisses. Like that cheek kissing they do in Europe. Like how you kiss your mama or your little sister.”

“Well, I’ll be. _Platonic_ physical affection.”

“Got it for my best friend. A _she_ if you must know.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Got a dog from the pound when I was putting myself through the education program at the college. Bisou was a little runt. Loved her. Damn near killed me when she passed.”

“Oh wow.”

“And you thought before all this I was just a fucking douchebag who lured women at party with a guitar and some Creed songs.”

“Dammit, Laura.”

“Yeah, Laura’s not a snitch, but she does talk. All these fuckers talk.”

“I’m still impressed you got a tatt for your dog. That’s better than any fucking guitar.”

“It’s one thing I never exploited to get into women’s panties, believe it or not.”

“That is hard to believe.”

“One thing I never believed is that men are hardwired for monogamy. Men gotta spread their seed _far_ and _wide_. We are not meant to be with one woman our whole life.”

“Ah.” Marlowe felt a catch in her breath. She tried putting a wall around it, but couldn’t. She tried to think of Preston, but that only made her emotions bubble up faster. She was aware she felt guilty for _not_ feeling guilty about being here right now, on a rooftop with another man. Negan could look at her and make her body open up. When he stood near her, she felt her groin swell and dampen with longing. “So do you have children?”

“Nope,” Negan answered quickly. “I’d be a shitty dad, anyway. My own father was a fucked up piece of hot trash and I just always felt like kids are a chore. A burden.”

“I’ve seen you with the kids around here. You’re patient and loving. Especially the babies. And you became a _teacher_ for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah. It’s just a drive men have. It’s biology, as you’d say. We’re hardwired to reproduce to keep people on this spinning rock.” He took a swig of beer. “Me and my wife tried. Nothing. She had her periods regular and stuff, so I assume it was me. None of these women here have gotten knocked up by me. Unless they got some clothes hangers I don’t know about.”

 _Or Carson was giving them birth control_ , Marlowe thought. She wanted to tell him that, or divulge that most people are now sterile, but she kept it to herself.

“You ever want kids?”

“No. I mean, my sister and I made a pact. No kids. Or we’d adopt. We had a shitty fucking childhood. We’re white trash, so kids around us were always dirty and snotty, getting yanked up by their arms and knocked around. Used as sex toys for mama’s boyfriends or the stepfathers.”

“Jesus, that is harsh.”

“Well, you and I are both broken.”

“Our jagged pieces fit together so well.”

“Indeed they do.”

“You’d be a great mom. You’re patient and loving with everyone here. Yeah, you got a fucking mean streak, anger issues. You scared the fucking holy shit outta me, and everyone else, when you got a hold of Davey. That was _some_ fucked up shit right there. Like _Faces of Death_ -worthy.”

Marlowe stared at her beer. “He deserved it.”

“Not saying he didn’t. I just don’t understand you. There’s like two of you. One is sunshine and puppies and the other is dark and scary.”

“Right back at ya.”

“Is that why you seem so into me? You see my sunshine and puppies along with my dark and scary?”

“Yeah, I reckon.”

“I don’t scare you?”

“No. I’m an asshole like that. I know what you’ve done to other people, but I know you wouldn’t hurt me. I’m safe with you. That’s a unique fucking feeling around a man.”

“Shouldn’t be that way.”

“It is. I mean, you’re not _safe_. You’re still a bad boy. You could break my heart into a million pieces, but you’d never lay a hand on me.”

“You are right about that. Woman, _you’d_ break _my_ heart.”

“Really? Yesterday during dinner, after your drunken pity party, you insinuated several times I was the distraction that cost you Roy and your pride at the Alexandria surprise party.”

“Yeah. I still feel that way. I gotta focus. You said yourself.”

“That’s why you’ve been strutting around these parts, telling people you got rid of the ‘wives’ because you were _bored_?”

“I said that, yes. Said I needed something new and didn’t need the distraction while I’m trying to feed and save everyone’s asses here. I feel like I got hundreds of kids. I am the daddy to everyone here. Makes me glad I’m shooting blanks in the crotch goblin-making department.”

“What are we doing?”

“You keep asking me that. I don’t fucking know. I wanna think you’re a confidante, like my own personal war advisor. Like Colin Powell, ‘cept Bush senior probably never wanted to bend Powell over a table and fuck the shit outta him.”

Marlowe smiled.

“At the same time, woman, _you are scary_. You make me feel, and that’s not a safe place to be in. Part of me wishes you’d never shown up here. You make me second-guess myself. I show my weaknesses to everyone because of you. Part of me wants to push you away because at any minute, the cavalry will show up and rescue you. Where are your people, anyway?”

“I gave up.” Marlowe set her bottle down and pinched her nose to keep from crying. “They’ve cut their losses. Speaking of,” she said, sitting up and turned her chair to face him. “Not to dampen the occasion, but I found one of my men.”

“Oh?” Negan looked and sounded disappointed.

“Yeah, he’s stuck out on the fence like a rotting pink flamingo, half his head bashed in.”

“ _Our_ fence? In the yard?”

“Yeah, I would really fucking like to know how he got there.”

“Hmm. When did you see him last? I mean, before he came back from the dead?”

“When we were all ambushed by that group. We got split up. I found everyone else. Their corpses, anyway. Stuck them all in the head with a Bowie knife for good measure, but they were picked clean. No radios, no weapons. No food packets. No water. Apone was the only one I didn’t find. Now he’s a permanent resident here.”

“Maybe one of the men found him.”

“And? You make it a habit of dragging corpses back?”

“For protection, yeah. What are you getting at? You think one of ours killed him?”

“I don’t know.”

Negan was frowning. “Look, I’ll have a talk with my men tomorrow. Straight shooting, deal? No bullshit. Just the facts, ma’am. I’m just as curious as you. Maybe there was an altercation?”

“Whatever. You should probably find out before I do.”

“Yeah, don’t want you taking the wrinkles out of anyone else’s dick here.”

Marlowe’s chest was heavy thinking about Apone. She suddenly just wanted to drink herself into a coma and forget the world. She smiled at Negan. “I know a better way to take wrinkles out of a dick.”

***

  
J.D. shook his head and went back to his book as the two ran, hand-in-hand, down the hallway to Negan’s room. The two slammed each other against the bedroom door and Negan humped Marlowe’s crotch, holding her waist in one arm as he unlocked his door.

Inside the room, Negan sucked on Marlowe’s neck as they twisted out of their clothes. His flannel shirt laid on the bedroom floor.

Negan pulled up Marlowe’s shirt and bra as she fought to unbuckle his belt. She moaned as he gently bit her nipple. “Oh, _fuck_ …”

Negan kissed her again and their tongues mingled. Marlowe breathed him in. She kissed his face, lingering over his eyelids.

Marlowe reached into his pants and stroked him. He responded by picking her up and laying her gently onto his bed.

The only light in the room was from the moon.

When they were naked, Negan reached down and maneuvered himself into her. They both moaned. Marlowe kissed his chest near his sternum as he slowly moved with the rhythm of her hips. He kissed her forehead and stroked hair. They looked into each other’s eyes, holding the gaze.

Negan leaned back and took Marlowe’s uninjured leg up to his torso. He held her thigh, lifting her hips off the bed as she enveloped him.

They moved silently, save for groans of pleasure. Finally, Negan moaned, “ _Close…_ ”

Marlowe felt him start to pull out. She wrapped her legs around his thighs. “ _Stay...inside..._ ”

The two came together, Marlowe feeling him pulsate and shudder inside her. Her body continued to twitch and send shockwaves after her orgasm.

After they cleaned up in the bathroom, Negan held her face and kissed her. They laid together and fell asleep, arms and legs intertwined.

***

  
_The beach is quiet except for the sound of the tide. The sand under Marlowe’s feet is hot, almost too hot. She hears him, and turns to see him walking toward her. She struggles to see his face but can’t; it’s blurred._

_He’s singing, “Oh my darling, Clementine…”_

_Marlowe starts to run toward him, but can’t move. Her feet sink into the sand. “Help… me,” she whispers, but her voice is too soft for him to hear._

_So she waits for him._

_Suddenly she is terrified, knowing somehow that when he gets to her, he will be rotting. He is dead, and so is she…_

“... _oh my darlin’, sweet Clementine_.” Negan put an arm around her. “Please, Lucille. Please help me. Help me climb her tower, scale her walls. I’m going to cut down those walls and find her.” His voices breaks.

Marlowe knows he is crying. She feels it, but doesn’t move.

“Help me be better. I can’t do this again. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I named a fucking bat after you. Please give me strength. Please help me find my way. Please keep her safe. I can’t take this…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!


	16. "Poison is the wind that blows from the north and south and east"

“It’s just that you remind me of my late wife when you sit like that. She was a yoga teacher.” Harlan smiled at Marlowe. “I didn’t mean to stare at you while you were meditating like that.”

“I didn’t notice, honestly.” Marlowe felt especially happy, getting laid the night before and sleeping like a rock in Negan’s bed had helped with that. “Hey, we haven’t really had a chance to talk since you got here. I really enjoyed working with your brother.”

“Thanks, but I’m intrigued anyone would use the word ‘enjoying’ in reference to my older brother.”

“Really?”

“You’re just being sarcastic now.”

Marlowe got up from the chair and leaned on her cane. “You did a great job patching up my leg. I can’t thank you enough. Especially for an obstetrician. I know penetrating trauma surgery isn’t exactly your wheelhouse.”

“Well, repairing a gunshot wound is tricky. The vascular and nerve repairs made it nerve-wracking. Negan standing over me didn’t help the process. The universe kept you from femoral artery damage. There was no resulting hemodynamic instability. No fracturing of bones.” Harlan chuckled.

“At least it was a low-velocity weapon.”

Harlan raised an eyebrow.

“Like recreational. Target practice gun.”

“Ah, yes. You seem to be healing well, other than residual low-grade fever, fatigue, and back pain, your body seems to tolerating the transfusion nicely. Lucky you, being a universal receiver, according to your dog tags. Being able to take any blood type is magnificent. And I think Negan would have insisted on being the donor, regardless.”

“He is a bit of a know-it-all.”

“Yeah,” Harlan wiped his face with his hand. “Not a fan.”

“Well, I’m glad you decided to come here from Hilltop to help. And to save my life.”

“You know what he did to my brother?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Who’s to say I’m not next?”

Marlowe was shocked at Harlan’s candor. It was a refreshing change from the hesitation and the self-censoring of everyone else around the Sanctuary. “He does make poor decisions at times. Of course we are living in morally ambiguous times.”

“Don’t you dare.” Harlan spoke with such force spittle escaped his lips. “Don’t you even dare. Do you have _any_ idea what he’s done? How he exhorted and stolen and murdered? I watched him murder a sixteen year-old boy. To ‘set an example.’ Sixteen. His life hadn’t begun. I watched him beaten to death.” Harlan took a cloth from the counter and wiped his face with it. “So yeah, I didn’t exactly have a choice. Simon came in _demanding_ I come here. Came in like a bat out of hell. I didn’t have time to pack anything, to hand over my cases...nothing. I have an ongoing patient. Someone I really need to be there to look after. An obstetrics case.”

“Obstetrics?”

“Yes. She’s about eight weeks along.”

“Sorry, just surprised anyone would get pregnant during all this.” _Or be capable of it._ “Have you treated other women who have conceived post-outbreak?”

“Wow. Just… I’m telling you I was ripped from my home, Hilltop is left without a doctor, and you’re asking clinical questions of me? I should have been a proctologist, considering the amount of assholes in this place.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not as much as I. I suppose you’ll go tell your...what is he to you? I suppose you’re going to run and tell Negan. I’ll get thrown into the fire like my brother, or get my skull bashed in. Either way, I am about beyond caring. This is not a world I’m happy to live in.”

“This conversation doesn’t leave the room. I honestly appreciate your openness with me.”

“Do you know what he said? Do you know what he said to me while I was patching you up? I’ve never been that scared _in my life_. I’ve seen people murdered, but I have never been as shaken as when I was trying to keep you from succumbing to your gunshot wound. He stood over, like he had _any_ idea of what I was doing. Stood over me and dictated how I worked on you. Told me if I didn’t save you, I’d be a ‘charcoal briquette,’ just like Emmett.”

“Jesus.”

“There is no Jesus here. There is no god. If there is, he is apathetic to us. Or maybe he’s letting this happen. He’s ridding his creation of us. We ruined this planet, and now it’s come for us.”

***  
Simon walked Marlowe to Roy’s bedroom. “Now, I’m not saying he did anything wrong, but he’s… he _was_ … a packrat. Kept the weirdest shit he found on people. I remember some things he kept from one of the roamers strung up on the fence.”

Marlowe stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by boxes. The bed was covered with old magazines, cassette tapes, and loose change. “Yeah. Looks like he was a bit of a hoarder.”

Simon pulled open a dresser drawer. “This is where he kept the jewelry he found. Ah, here it is.”

Marlowe walked over and took the necklace from Simon. It was a gold medallion of the Virgin Mary. Our Lady of Guadalupe. Marlowe read the back aloud. “To Alexander, from Grandma Mimi.” She made a fist around the jewelry. “Fuck me.”

“That’s not all, Marlowe. Found this.” In Simon’s hand were dog tags for an “Alexander Apone.”

Marlowe took the dog tags gingerly from his hands. She put them with the medallion and covered them with both hands. “Why? Why did he have these?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you just randomly find… people...and bring them back as fence decorations?”

“Sometimes.”

“His head was bashed in.”

“Mar, I don’t know.” Simon looked down at her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Wish I could tell you. There’s a lot of shit that goes on around here I’m not privy to.  We need a nanny cam or something.”

“It’s just awfully convenient Roy had these. He’s dead now.”

Simon stared at her. “Maybe we’ll talk to the boss about this.”

“Sure, Simon. Sounds good.”

“I know you’re heartbroken about your buddy.”

“He was my responsibility. He trusted me.”

Simon touched Marlowe’s loose hair around her shoulders. His voice was soft. “Mar, I am really sorry.”

“Get your men to cut him down. Have Gary get the carpenter to make a marker. A cross. Put some words from a Catholic saint on it. Something fitting. Bury him among the flowers in the back.”

***  
“Eugene, I’ve had about all I can fucking take today.”

“I’m sorry. I just don’t...don’t know who to talk to.” Eugene stood in Marlowe’s room, shoulders rounded, looking like a broken-hearted boy.

He had caught Marlowe at one of the few times she was in her bedroom. Between work, decompressing with the goats, and de-briefing Negan’s meetings with him at dinner, followed by drinks and sex, Marlowe was exhausted. The bedroom was storing clothes and naps. She had been sleeping in Negan’s room, showering there to avoid early morning walks of shame down their shared hallway.

“I see you collect Buddhist items. This one in particular looks familiar.” Eugene nodded in the direction of a colorful Buddha sitting atop Marlowe’s cabinet.

“Yeah, it’s a Tibetan Chenrezig.”

“I mean, I believe I have seen this particular statue before. The very same one.”

“Well, I’m not a fucking good Buddhist right now, am I? I got called an ‘asshole’ this morning by someone I respect.”

“You are not, in any way, someone to whom I would ascribe the appellation ‘an asshole.’”

“Stick around, kid. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“You are a woman I would trust.”

“Fine. Take a seat. The doctor is in.”

The two sat in Marlowe’s faux leather recliners. “Would you care for some tea? I can have Donnie, my door guard, send for some.”

“I have been subsisting on copious amounts of alcohol lately.”

“Your liver hates you.”

“ _I_ hate me.”

“Why?”

Eugene began to sob. Snot ran from his nose and he wiped it with a sleeve. “I don’t deserve to live. I killed one of my closest friends. I made pills and I gave them to her so she could die. I’m like a fat Dr. Kevorkian.”

Marlowe sighed and rubbed the muscle around her gunshot wound. She wondered if the nerves were healing properly. It was a constant reminder of yet another bad decision in her life. “So it was euthanasia.”

“Of sorts.”

“What happened?”

  
“I thought I was doing her a favor. Truth be told, she might have died anyway.”

“Let me get Donnie to bring up some apéritifs and fruit. Then we will call a meeting of the Sanctuary Assholes to order.”

 _***_  
Several days passed. Marlowe spent most of her days training Sanctuary members in basic combat medicine. She made charts and drilled the participants on how and when to move injured Saviors. Marlowe asked Carson to help with the training, to delegate some of the basic CPR, bone-setting, and bandaging. He refused, and she let it go. Laura helped her find several members of the Sanctuary who had been EMTs or other jobs that required emergency medical training. Frankie shared her knowledge of anatomy and physiology she had picked up in massage school.

Arat took charge of the weapons training, enlisting several of the Saviors to help show the trainees how to load weapons, use the safety, and shoot properly. Marlowe had to convince her that basic self-defense was critical for anyone who might be helping care for their combatants.

Marlowe and Negan continued to meet nightly for dinners over candlelight. Aside from the cursory mentions of how prepping for the upcoming skirmishes would go, they would clean up first, and talk over their meal like they were on a date.

Three days after having a long conversation with Eugene, Marlowe met Negan in his room, hair down and curled, with makeup and perfume she borrowed from Amber.

“Ooh, I love that dress. Very earth child. Free spirit.” Negan wolf-whistled.

“It’s...thin. I do kinda like the floral print.”

“You need daisies in your hair or something.”

“And then I’ll walk barefoot in the flowers and feed chipmunks from my hand.”

“How are you holding up with work, Clemmie?”

“Good,” Marlowe said, pushing her pinto bean around with her fork. “These green beans are the bomb.”

“How’s Carson treating you?”

“He’s a bit surly right now.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“Please don’t. I respect him. He’s a valuable asset and we need to do everything to make him happy.”

Negan set down his fork across the rest of his chicken. “Happy? I haven’t fucking killed him.”

“Don’t be a tyrant, be a boss. This falls under learning better soft skills chapter of your general training.” Marlowe took his hand, trying to smooth over the criticism.

“We can’t play by the old rules. This is a new world order, Clementine. There is no NATO, no fucking Geneva Convention.”

“See? That’s where you’re wrong. Humans crave order, routine. It’s why cavemen concocted stories about how and why the earth was made, how humanity began. Creation myths give a meaning and a purpose to life. Otherwise a lot of folks would feel lost and hopeless. We want a structure and a code of law. We’re no different from children, finding safety in boundaries and discipline.”

“Are you telling me because people are weak, I need to be more touchy-feely, singing ‘Kumbaya’ with my constituents?”

“It sounds like some yuppie bullshit, but you’ve gotta do some team-building. Build trust. You can’t strong-arm respect from people, beat it out of them.”

“It’s worked so far.”

“Has it? At some point your house of cards is going to get knocked over. We don’t know which of these people here are sick of your rule, and are going to jump ship. Carson does not want to be here, but it’s best for us that he stay.”

“We have you.”

“I can’t and won’t be the only provider for hundreds of people. Isn’t fair to them. You also have to have, ideally, a treatment _team_. I can’t work in an echo chamber where mine is the only opinion. That’s how mistakes are made. I’m telling you, we need to bend over backwards to play concierge for Harlan. Have his meals brought up to him. Leave chocolates on his pillows and fold his fucking towels into swans.”

“I can have one of the girls come up to his room.”

Marlowe pushed her plate away and sighed. “He’s not like that. He’s kinda granola. Doesn’t eat meat, his late wife was a yoga instructor and they rescued animals. You gotta use the soft sell, use his emotions to our advantage. Make him feel like he is _needed here_. Play on his heart. He’s an obstetrician. We need to get all the mamas and babies rallied at the infirmary for everything from vaccinations to cuts and scrapes. Harlan needs an investment in this place.”

Negan smiled at her. “What did I ever do before you?”

“Fuck a bunch of women every night.”

“You’re a jealous girl.”

Marlowe frowned.

Negan reached over the table to her. “Hey, I swear to god if I’d known someone like you would come along…”

“It’s cool.”

“No, really.” Negan stood up and pulled Marlowe up to him. “It was fun, but this, this thing we have is better.”

Marlowe raised an eyebrow. “You just like how I suck your dick.”

“Baby, _I do indeed_. Let’s get to bed, speaking of. I gotta early morning meeting and I need you in attendance. Someone I’d like you to meet.”

Marlowe stood on her tiptoes and kissed Negan, trying not to taste the dead, cooked chicken in his mouth. He lifted her up and carried her to bed. Marlowe put her arms around his neck and her head on his chest as he held her close.  
_***_  
“Black pants and a dark blouse,” Marlowe told him. “Black, heeled boots. Amber is kind enough to offer put my hair up and do some professional makeup.”

“Nothing frilly?” Negan winked at her.

“No, but I’m not going dressed as an extra from Grease either.”

“Hey, don’t knock my aesthetic.” Negan swung Lucille and whistled. He sang, “ _Whoa, ah, mercy mercy me..Oh things ain't what they used to be, no no..Where did all the blue skies go?_ ”

“Love Marvin Gaye.”

“I know.”

“Let me get gussied up while you finish those pancakes. It’s close to seven already.”

***  
“Miss, uh…?” Gregory held out his hand to her.

“Doctor... Lieutenant...Take your pick. Last name’s Marlowe.”

“Oh, a lady doctor. Very good-looking to boot. You have very captivating big, brown eyes.”

“What the fuck do my looks have to do with this?”

Negan chuckled. “I’d watch her, Greggy-boy. She’ll cut your dick off and feed it to you with Brussels sprouts. And I don’t know which of those two things are worse.”

Gregory’s hand trembled slightly as he held the coffee mug up to his lips. “Well, I hope our own doctor is performing well for you all.” He took a sip. “Our doctor is a fine man. He’s uh…” Gregory turned to Negan and waved a hand. “I don’t know what kind.”

“Obstetrician.” Negan said.

“Right. Delivers babies or something.”

“We are serious as a fucking heart attack right now,” Marlowe said, leaning across the table. “You end your little convention with Alexandria.”

“Or what?”

“Sanctions.”

Gregory laughed. “I have been nothing but generous to you, Negan.” He held out his hands.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Gregory.” Marlowe stood up and over the man.

Gregory looked pleadingly at Negan.

“You’ll do as my new _chargé d'affaires_ says.” Negan tapped Lucille on the table. “It’s a new post here, a highfalutin term that means she’s the head bitch around here.”

“Negan, I _know_ what the term means.”

“Then fucking do it.”

Gregory nodded to Marlowe, giving her only a second of eye contact before looking down at the table.

Simon and Marlowe smiled at one another.

Simon walked over and squeezed Gregory’s shoulder. “I seem to have forgotten my manners. Would you like a refill of your coffee? Maybe take a peek at the dessert menu?”

Marlowe caught Regina’s eyes and shook her head. Regina rolled her eyes and shrugged. Looking over at Eugene, Marlowe felt sadness. Eugene was dressed in all black, like funereal clothes. He was in over his head with all this, and he knew it.

Gavin walked into the conference room. “Boss, you’re gonna want to step out and see this.”

 _***_  
As they were walking the corridor, four shots rang out in the distance. Negan looked back at Marlowe, his lips pursed. She knew he was angry, but would put on his game face.

Marlowe grabbed his arm and whispered, “You _absolutely_ do _not_ need to be the first one out the door.”

“Lemme handle this, sweetness,” he cupped her jaw in his hand. Kissing her temple gently, he motioned for Laura to stay back with Marlowe.

Marlowe wanted to grab him and make him stay, but there would be no negotiating and she knew it. “He’s going to get hurt.”

“I know,” Laura said.

Marlowe could hear everything when the door opened. The acoustics in the factory were perfect.

“Well, shit. I’m sorry,” she heard Negan say. “I was in a meeting.”

Marlowe tried to slip past Gary and Laura as they grabbed Gregory to keep him from walking away.

Laura grabbed Marlowe’s blouse arm and hissed at her, “You walk out there, Gary and I’ll meet Lucille later.”

“Fair enough.” Marlowe stayed, scratching at her neck nervously. Eugene looked back her before he went through the door. Marlowe shook her head at him and mouthed, _“No.”_

Eugene shrugged and half-smiled at her. He went through the door anyway.

From outside, Marlowe could hear Negan continue to speak. “I see ya got your little mud flaps with ya. So I’m not _exactly_ feelin’ a reason for us to try throwing lead at each other. I care about my people. I don’t wanna just march them into the line of fire because I wanna play ‘my dick is bigger than yours.’ It is. We both know it.”

Marlowe could hear every word, and grew angrier with Negan by the second.

“But I’m also comfortable enough to accept the fact if it wasn’t. I’m certainly not gonna let my people die over that shit. Like _you’re_ about to. So what the hell can I do you for?”

She heard another voice, and it sounded like he was naming off the Saviors.

Eugene spoke up. “Rick, I’d feel remiss if…”

So it was the infamous Rick outside.

As if Laura read her mind, Marlowe felt the woman’s hand on her.

“Don’t even think about it, Marlowe. Let them have their pissing contest. You’ll get hurt.”

The man, Rick, continued. “You Saviors inside...all of you have a chance to survive. To survive t _his._ Y’all can live, if you surrender. Can’t guarantee it anytime but now.”

Marlowe turned to Laura. “After all this, he comes here and sticks us with an ultimatum?” She heard Negan’s voice again.

“So they surrender, and you and your little piss patrol doesn’t kill them. That sounds like a _good deal._ What about me, Rick?”

“I told you. Twice. You know what’s gonna happen.”

“I do. I _do_ know what’s gonna happen. _You_ don’t. You have no idea the shit that’s about to go down. Let me ask you something, Rick. Do you think you have the numbers for this fight? You don’t. Simon…”

Simon walked through the door and gestured to Marlowe.

Marlowe shoved Gregory until he stuck out his head into the doorway. She had to push him further to walk all the way out. Laura kept her gun trained on the man.

“What do you have to say to Rick and the piss patrol, Gregory?”

“The Hilltop stands with Negan and the Saviors. Any resident of the Hilltop who takes up arms or who supports this ultimatum against the Sanctuary, or any of the Saviors, for that matter, they will no longer be welcome in the colony.”

“And?”

“Their families will thrown out and will be left to fend for themselves.”

“And?”

Gregory was yelling at this point. _“Go home now. Or you won’t have a home to go back to.”_

“You heard the man. Go back to separating wheat and shit, or whatever the hell it is you people do.”

Marlowe heard a woman’s voice.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s goin’, does it?”

Gregory yelled, _“The Hillstop stands...”_

Another male voice: _“The Hilltop stands with Maggie!”_

Simon was speaking, and Marlowe knew it was to Gregory. “I feel like I invested a _lot_ in you, and I am very, _very_ disappointed.”

Marlowe heard a wail and then a thud. She assumed it was Gregory.

This time, both Gary and Laura held her inside the factory walls _. This is_ not _going according to plan,_ Marlowe thought. _What the fuck are they doing?_

Laura yelled, “What _was_ that? A bomb?”

“Jesus,” Marlowe said. “He is going to get everyone killed.”

Negan spoke. “Sounds like shit is going _down_ , Rick.”

Rick yelled. “ _You lieutenants...you’re gonna have to make up your minds._ "

Gavin, always the diplomat, said, “Maybe we can take a time-out here.”

“No,” Rick said. “This has to happen now. This is the only way. You’re gonna make me count? Okay. Okay."

“Fuck this, Laura. Let me…” Marlowe said.

“No! Goddamn it, Mar.”

_“Ten! Nine!”_

Marlowe felt her heartbeat, fast and pounding at her chest. She spun around to Gary. “Give me your gun. At least let’s go to the roof and take a clean shot of this Rick.”

_“Eight! Seven!”_

There were gunshots. Marlowe twisted Gary’s hand off her and ran to the doorway. She was immediately pushed back into the factory by the Saviors and Eugene.

Simon grabbed her tightly, anticipating her decision.

“No! _Fuck you, Simon!_ ” Marlowe screamed and bit into his hand. Marlowe was still hearing the sounds of gunfire when Simon backhanded her into Eugene. Losing her footing in the heeled boots, she twisted her injured thigh uncomfortably and fell onto the concrete.

Regina, Gavin, and Simon pulled her up, keeping their guns on her. They ran, dragging her, into an inner room, locking the door behind them.

“Marlowe,” Simon said. “You _can’t_ help him now. You can’t go out there.”

“Tell Gavin to get his hands _off_  me.”

Simon seemed genuinely concerned. “Negan made his fucking bed.”

Regina was the only one with her gun still aimed at Marlowe. “We just saved your life.”

Laura yelled from the other side of the door and Gavin let her, Gary, and Eugene inside.

Marlowe sat in a swivel chair and wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Oh god, I’m sorry.” Simon pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket.

Marlowe took the cloth and held it to her sore lip. “I did bite you,” she said softly. “Where is he?”

“He ran,” Regina said. “He ran away.”

“Where did he go?” Marlowe said.

“Who the fuck knows?” Regina said, putting her rifle on the oak conference table.

Marlowe could still hear noises coming from outside. Some shook the walls. “What do we do?”

“Nothing,” Simon said. “We can’t do anything.”

Just then a boom rocked the building. “We’re sitting ducks,” Marlowe said.

"No thanks to your boyfriend," Regina said.

" _Hey!_ " Simon pointed a finger in Regina's face. "If  _our_ boss had listened to her," he pointed at Marlowe.  "We wouldn't be laying in this pile of shit."

Marlowe flinched at a touch on her shoulder. It was Eugene.

“Clementine,” Eugene leaned down to speak softly to her. “Perhaps this is for the best. Retribution. Karma. Maybe he had it comin’.”

“I can’t fucking argue with you, big man.” Marlowe leaned her head onto Eugene’s torso.

“I know, sweet friend.” He put an arm around her and rested his chin on the top of her head. “But you can’t help who you love.”


	17. "I'll Be the One with My Heart in My Lap'"

Marlowe sat near Simon at the table.  She listened to outpost heads argue, wondering who the mole is.  Her gut told her it wasn’t Eugene; he was too fearful. He might have his own machinations to undermine the Saviors, but _this_ wasn’t him.  Simon could be a suspect. He was clearly violent and itching to usurp Negan. Still, he wouldn’t just be duplicitous about it. He was volatile, but not a turncoat.

It was Gavin or Dwight, Marlowe was almost certain of it.  

Regina spoke next.  “We have to assume Negan is dead.”

Marlowe put the notion in the back of her mind so she could focus.  She dug a fingernail into her palm to keep her breath steady.

“I’m Negan,” Simon said.  “And as I understand, everyone in this room is. Now I realize there’s a lot of stress in the air, but just to clarify, are you saying you’re someone else, Regina?”

“No.”

“Good.”

As if to seal the commitment, Regina said, “We should send the fence crew out. Grab a few others, we get forty workers, standing back to back…”

“No,” Eugene said in a small voice.

Regina had spoken over him, ignoring or not hearing. “We get them out with pipes, they clear a path, just enough for a small team…”

“Inadequate.”

“ _What?_ ”  Regina turned to Eugene.

Marlowe listened as Eugene laid out his alternative.  As much as he could be wrong, Negan was solid on the “people are a resource” idea.  Regina was a strong leader, and Marlowe respected her, but her plan was an off-the-cuff move, like Regina was scrambling for ideas.  

Marlowe considered adding to the conversation, but she wanted to keep quiet and see how it played out.  

Dwight was the one who brought sense back to the room.  “Regina, he’s right.  The workers have the numbers, and we need to keep them on our side.”

“We need to keep them in _line,_ ” Simon said.

Gavin, always the diplomat, and usually right, offered his own thoughts.  “Even if we get a few of ours out and somehow clear the crowd, they have snipers all around the building.  So right now, let’s deal with the other part. Someone in _here_ made everything out _there_ happen.   We’re having our little crisis management meeting about the rebellion in Alexandria, us three outpost heads, and _that’s_ when they pile this crap on us?   _That’s_ when they cut us off? Come on.  They knows all and sees all. Sometime it doesn’t take a gun.  The right kinda rat can kill plenty of people with just some talk.”

“But it’s not gonna be us, and it doesn’t have to be the workers.” Dwight said.

Simon leaned forward. “Dwight, you gotta face reality here.”

“No, Simon. We keep what’s ours, and we don’t give up a damned thing. We get out.  And I don’t wanna hear backbiting or pissing and moaning from you two. You got a problem with that, come at me.  Hmm? _You_ can’t lead the Saviors outta here, I will.”

“Yes, my boy. Yes! And we’re gonna find that subhuman coward that did this to us, and we’re gonna kill him, every slowly, in front of everyone here over the course of a few very long days.  Good meeting, people. Now let’s make today the best today it can be.”

***

“Where are you headed, G.?”  Marlowe asked.

“Gotta go see Dwight,” Eugene said.

“May I join?  You bringing him cukes?”

“No, and yes.”

“You okay?”

Eugene stopped walking and stared at her.  “I think the question is, are _you_ okay?”

***

“I got the goats into the factory.  Found a part where they are safe.”

Eugene sat in his chair, drink in hand.  “Think you could knock before coming into my abode?”

“Sorry.  You got rum?  I brought ginger ale and canned lime juice.”

“It just so happens I do have some spiced black rum.”  Eugene’s monotone was flatter than usual.

“Great, I’ll make us some Dark and Stormies while we wait to die.”

The lights went out.  The fan stopped.

“Hell,” Eugene said.

“I’ll make ours a double, then.”  

“I already have a drink.”

“Suit yourself.  I plan on getting so blitzed and shit-faced I don’t remember my own name.  Alcohol poisoning will get me this day, if I’m lucky.”

“You’re about as helpful right now as a tits on a bull.”

Laura came through the door.  “Eugene, meeting.” She looked at Marlowe.  “You can sit this out, love.”

“Good.  I’m going to check in at the infirmary for a bit then nurse some rum up in the master bedroom.”

Eugene turned to Marlowe.  “See you later.”

***

Lost in thought, curled up on his couch by the window, she didn’t hear the door open.  

“I knew you’d be in here.”

Marlowe came off the couch before her brain registered the voice.  She began sobbing.

“Hey, hey…”  Negan held her back, but stroked her hair.  “I smell like death and taxes here. Lemme take a shower.”  His tone was soft.

“You piece of shit, cocksucking, motherfucking asshole, cunt-twat shitbag.”

Negan smiled.  “And she is _glad_ to see me.”

Marlowe slapped him.  

He laughed.  “Even _that_ was good.  I really thought I was going to get my ticket punched and go meet the big man in the sky today.”  He watched Marlowe. “Oh, baby. I’m sorry.”

“I fucking _told_ you not to be the first out.  I tried to get to you. Everyone rushed back into the building...”

“And I told you to stay inside.”

“I didn’t walk out because I didn’t want that on Laura’s head.”

“You did good.  You protect people. That’s what you do.  You _save_ people, doc.”

Marlowe hopped onto the foot of the bed.  She put her head in her hands and sobbed.

Negan propped Lucille on the bed frame.  He put his hands on Marlowe’s knees. “I got someone coming up with food and to wash my shit.  Lemme take a shower and we’ll eat. By the smell of you...what is that? Rum? I guess you already drank your dinner.  I got sandwiches coming up. Got you a veggie, don’t worry. We’ll eat together.”

Marlowe put her hands into his jacket pockets to pull him close.

“I got guts on me, gal.”

“I don’t care.”

Negan spoke softly.  “Jesus, I really tore you up today.”  He put his hand on her face. “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Be strong, girl.”

“I am,” Marlowe looked up at him.  “I _always_ have been. Always _had_ to be. Fuck you, Negan. _You’re_ my weakness.”

Negan bent over and kissed her.  “Use it to your benefit, then.” He ran his fingers through her hair.  

Marlowe knew she would.  

***

Marlowe sat to Negan’s left, next to Gavin.  Negan was turned toward her, Lucille laid between them.  Marlowe stared at the barbed-wire around the bat, so she would stop thinking about Negan in his white shirt, freshly showered from being covered in ghoul guts.  Almost dying. Marlowe nearly losing _another_ person.

Across from her, Dwight and Eugene looked somber.  She wondered about their roles in today’s events.

Arat, Laura, and Gary came in with a duffel bag.  They announced the guns they found belonged to the Saviors.

Simon spoke a little too quickly for Marlowe’s taste.   “One of ours did this... _is_ doing this.  Right now.

“Tell me how we find him, Simon,” Negan said.

“We find _when_ the munitions went missing.  Through that, we get an idea of the _how_ , which hopefully leads us right to _who_. But we start with when.”

Marlowe noticed Dwight looking uncomfortable.  

Eugene was staring hard at him.  

She and her new best friend, the bullet-maker, needed to have a little come-to-Jesus later.

 ***

After the meeting, Marlowe kissed Negan’s cheek and whispered to him, “Eugene knows something.”

Negan pulled back and squeezed her hand.  “I realize that.”

 ***

_“Baby, baby...wake up.”_

“ _No...Nicole!”_ Marlowe was thrashing around.  She sat up in the bed, dripping with sweat.  She pulled back the sheet and started to crawl off the edge.

“Where are you going?” Negan asked.  “Lie back down.”

_“The babies.”_

“Honey, you are _not_ even awake.”

_“The babies.  I have to get them away from Nicole.  They’re eating each other.”_

Negan pulled her to him.  “You’re dreaming. Hey. Shh, baby.   _Shh._ ”

Marlowe pushed him away.  “Negan?” She looked at him.  His shirt was off and his hair was slicked back with sweat.

“Let me get us some water.”  Negan poured a glass from the nightstand.  “It’s been a bad fucking night."

“Oh, god,” Marlowe said, taking the glass and sipping it.  She held it to her naked chest. “It is so hot in here. Sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t.  Fuck me, I couldn’t sleep tonight.  Everytime I close my eyes I see my wife.”

“Jesus,” Marlowe said, handing him the glass.  “I’m sorry.”

“It’s my fault.  I was thinking about her earlier. She was beautiful.  Curly dark hair, before it all fell out. She read _all the time_ .  Fantasy novels were here favorite.  Big, fat ones,” he took a sip of water.  “Great ol’ big books. Series. Shit, I’d read a _Playboy_ article on the john, but that was about it. But Lucille,” Negan sat the glass back down and wiped his chest with the sheet.  “Lucille _was a reader._ She _forgot_ more things than I ever knew.  Should’ve been a college professor.”

“She sounded wonderful.”

“She was.  A saint.” Negan leaned back against the headboard.  He stared ahead, squeezing Marlowe’s hand. “That prick priest I told you about wanted to psychoanalyze me.  Kept asking about any marriages or kids.”

Marlowe leaned forward and ran her finger over his arm.  “It _has_ been a day.”

“Indeed.  What were you dreaming about?”

“Don’t remember,” Marlowe lied.

“How do you wake up like that screaming? Talking?  How do you _not_ remember something like that?”

Marlowe shrugged.  “It’s for the best.”

“Your sister?”

Marlowe stared at him.  

“Look, I just gave you some unfiltered, out-of-the-armor Negan.  You could give me the same damn courtesy.”

“Yeah.”

“Her kids, too?”

“Yeah.”

“You have to put them down?”

Marlowe breathed hard.  She nodded. “She wouldn’t leave them.  She wouldn’t go. The little one got her. He…”  

“Hey, it’s over.”  Negan pulled her close. “We can’t change it.  We did what we had to. We survived. A mama don’t wanna leave her babies.  I don’t know a lot, but I know that. You couldn’t take her from that. She wouldn’t have wanted to live anyway.”

“You’re right.”

He touched her face and kissed her.  “Let’s try to sleep. We gotta get our people through this.”

***

“They took my outpost,” Regina said as she entered the meeting room. “They took Shephard Plaza.”

Marlowe was at the table, reviewing Emmett’s notes and medical inventory, and formulating a plan for the sick and dehydrated Sanctuary residents.  
  
“Mara? Joshua?”  Marlowe’s chest tightened as she thought of Joshua’s baby.  “ _Gracie?”_

Regina nodded.

“Oh god.”  Marlowe wailed, not recognizing the sound coming out of her.  It was primal. She ran to the bookshelf and start tearing books down.  She pulled down the porcelain ballerina Bradford had been running his hand over when she was in this room, so long ago.  The day Negan had her taken outside to the roamers. She picked it up, and slammed it against the window. Pieces exploded.

“I want Rick Grimes.  I want him brought to me.  I want to put his fucking head on this wall.”


	18. Ars moriendi

Marlowe asked the man again.  “What is your name?”

“Gabriel.”

“Gabriel, I am very sorry to tax you right now. Dr. Carson isn’t in here to fill me in.  I imagine it’s an infection from you coming into contact with the dead the other night.”

The man on the bed nodded.  

“Negan tells me you’re a priest.  Roman Catholic?”

The bald man shook his head.  

“Episcopalian?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful.  I read a couple of Bishop Spong’s books.  I respect the man.”

“What...what faith are you, may I ask?”

“Atheist.  Follow Tibetan Buddhism though.”

“Oh?” The man was pale and obviously uncomfortable.  Yet he persisted, and Marlowe knew the proselytizing would start at any moment.  “What would your faith teach about this? I mean, this world we now live in.”

Marlowe pulled up a stool.  “I heard from a woman who had spent time with in a Tibetan temple after the outbreak. We wound up in the same refugee base. Her tradition is Nyingma, a little more supernatural and folk magic-inclined than mine, but still. Her monk is from Tibetan.  Was. I don’t know. He was heartbroken by the turn of event. You have to put yourself in his shoes: lifelong vegetarian. Left Tibet when he was a boy.  When he was in his fifties, he cried _for days_ that he had accidentally killed a small black snake in his garden.  So this...this resurrection of bodies, wow. I can’t imagine what he thought of it. Evidently the most tender-hearted fellow one could meet.” Marlowe dug under her nails.

“Go on, please.”

“The monk reminded them of the tradition of the _yi dwags,_ the ‘hungry ghosts.’  They are us, constantly craving, having a thirst that cannot be quenched.  You know the Buddhist way is to end suffering and discomfort?”

“Yes.  The ‘Middle Way.’”

“So there are the _preta_ , the departed, roaming the earth again.  Rinpoche, the monk, had to decide if they should make the temple a sanctuary for the dead, or if that would be too much risk for the living.”

“And what did he decide?”

“The dead rising aren’t exactly a new concept to Tibetan mythology.  Or Eastern folk religion in general. Corpses are meditation tools, ways to gain luck, there to give helpful advice...I don’t know.  At any rate, Rinpoche decided to have his group meditate upon the dead roaming the gardens. Meditate upon the insatiable cravings of the flesh, and of the transient state of the body. We’re just bags of meat and shit, unimportant.  It’s what we do with the spiritual that matters. We die. We enter the _bardo_.  We may or may not have a rebirth as a higher being.  Rinpoche developed a ritual for cremating the risen dead.  A new _ars moriendi_.”

“The ‘art of dying.’”

“Again, not new.  That term itself arose after the Black Death. Of course, Christians blamed the Jews for the Black Death--there’s always a scapegoat in society, right? Jews were massacred.  Pogroms began. A lot of flagellation and purification rituals come out of all this. The educated clergy died out, leaving pastors who barely understood religious text. The faithful questioned by more weren’t saved by their god during the plague.”

“You know your Church history.”

“I read, that’s all.  Matters of religion intrigue me.”

“What did you do before all this?”

“You trying to tease a confession out of me as well?”  Marlowe smiled down at the man.

“He told you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a wife?  One of many?”

“No, Father.  Not at all. He and I are…” Marlowe took a deep breath and let it out.  “Friends. In the truest sense.”

“That is good to hear, that a man like he would have a confidant.  Someone to share with. Especially since he lost his _real_ wife.”

Marlowe frowned.  “So much for the ‘sanctity’ and seal of confession.”

“You’re right.  I’m telling tales out of school.”

“And digging for intel.  You trying to get Negan’s pillow talk outta me?  Well, you don’t have enough Sodium Pentothal and tequila for that.”

“Pillow talk?  Are you two…?”

“Fuck buddies?”

“Hmm.” The man stared at the ceiling.  “Would you, as well, like to confess?”

“We’d die of starvation by the time I got to my early twenties, Padre.”

The man chuckled softly. “We are all sinners.”

“Okay, I'll play along.  I served in several deployments.  I stabbed one of my stepfathers. Got the brake lines cut in my mother’s car after I forged her signature on my sister’s school papers so she could get an education.  I set fire to a relative’s trailer because I knew what he and his friends did to little children. Some army friends and I beat the fuck out of my sister’s first husband outside a Waffle House in North Georgia.  I cleaned out _another_ stepfather’s account, along with money I stole from a Blockbuster Video safe, to papertrip me and my sister to start a new life in another state.  I’ve killed insurgents, punched soldiers… you name it. Freaked out over a Burger King bag in the road because I thought it was an improvised explosive.  Was too ‘scary’ for my sister to have around the kids, so she didn’t speak to me for two years. I haven’t used my birth name in two decades. I barely remember it.  It’s like something from a movie I watched one night. About the time computers caught up with me, and it looked like the United States government was going to call my bluff, the world went to shit. The military didn’t care if I was a ‘Clementine Marlowe,’ which is an old maternal family name, or a ‘Jane Doe,’ or any other fucking name.  I can sharpshoot and stitch up G.I.’s.  Being combat-ready and having a pulse is everything.”

“How did you wind up here?”

Marlowe scratched the tip of her nose and squinted.  “Recon mission. Checking out survivors. Gathering information.  We’re finding that there are ‘fertility clusters’ where women aren’t, as you would say, _barren_ anymore.  Or the boys aren’t shooting blanks, who knows? Maybe the effects of the plague are wearing off.  Mutations in the virus.”

“Life finds a way,” Gabriel said, smiling. “ _And God said, ‘Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the dome of the sky_.’”  

Sighing, Marlowe rolled her eyes and said, “Yeah.  See, we’ve _all_ got this disease.  All of us. It’s a virus, so it’s not like I can stick you in the ass with penicillin and Bob’s your uncle.  A virus is like these fucking corpses, not really dead, but not alive. A Schrödinger's cat, of sorts.”

“How are you here now, as Negan’s lover and a doctor?”

“Fell into it. Some pigfuckers ambushed us when we were a little too far from our main team. Being really short has its advantages sometimes. I snuck into a tight spot and listened to my friends get murdered.  For what? For some MREs and some boots. We could have taken the assholes with us and they’d have have indoor plumbing, medicine, and a daily all-you-can-eat buffet.”

“Why haven’t you tried to find your team?”

“See this?”  Marlowe used a thumb to pull and tighten the skin inside her forearm.  “It’s like a Norplant or a microchip they used to stick dogs with. This little knot is scarring around a subdermal tracker.  I could be shot into space and they could use satellites to track me. They were supposed to, anyway.”

“So why haven’t they?”

“And  _that_ is the magical question. I’m here, but they haven’t come for me.  You seen any helicopters around? Yeah, me neither. Who knows? Maybe they found my men and assumed I’m dead too.  Or AWOL. Or they just don’t give a shit. Maybe my chip is malfunctioning. Maybe they came and some of these slope-browed cretins in the Sanctuary killed them and didn’t tell me.  Maybe Negan ordered the Saviors to be on the lookout for boots on the ground. Maybe ordered any military-looking people be murdered and strung up on the fence. Can’t lose another doctor, especially since he barbequed the last one.”

“Maybe he likes you.”

“More than that.  His wives, as you mentioned, are gone.  He let them go.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“You know, if I wanted to have my head shrunk, there was a guy back at the base…”  Marlowe’s eyes watered thinking of Preston. She never should have left him. Why did she never listen to the man?  He had been right every time, ever since they first met.

“Are you okay, Dr. Marlowe?”

“No, honestly.  I haven’t fucking been ‘okay’ since my life as a fetus.  And I wish people would stop fucking asking me.”

“Don’t you want a better life than this?  Maybe you could come back with me, to Alexandria.  Rick would…”

Marlowe stood up. “Rick _Grimes_?”

“The same.”

“That motherfucker murdered so many of these people. He’s the reason the lights are out and the people here are running out of water, food, and hope.  He’s surrounded us with the dead. Isn’t he the reason you and Negan had to cover yourselves in offal and run back into the factory?”

“Negan started this…”

“‘Negan started this.’   _Holy shit._ Do you hear yourself? Like a _child._  ‘But he _started_ it, Mom!’  You men are like a bunch of fucking children.  You can’t play nicely in the sandbox. You kick each other and steal each other’s toys.  One of you goes home to cry to mommy. It _never fucking fails_ .  The world’s a sandbox, and fuckers like you lot are the reason I had to leave my sister and her kids for years at a time to go blow up Middle Eastern people and their babies.  You fucking dick-swingers are the reason a bunch of terrorists made this virus. You can’t leave well enough alone. When you get hair on your balls, then women are your toys. If you can’t have them, no one else can.  I _told_ Negan to pick up his toys and come home for dinner. He didn’t listen and I almost lost him.”

“You don’t want to be Eva Braun.”

“Excuse _me?_ ”  Marlowe swiped her hand across the counter, the sound of clipboards and pens clattering to the floor.

Gabriel winced.

“You think you fucking know me?  You’re going to denigrate me and reduce me to _Eva-fucking-Braun_?”

“She, as well, had her struggles, personal demons.  I saw the thick scar on the inside of your arm. She, too, attempted suicide several times until…”

Marlowe walked over, lifted her elbow, and punched Gabriel in the chest, making him struggle for air.  “Don’t you _ever…”_

Gabriel sputtered, “ _There is...still... hope for you._ ”

Marlowe’s eyes widened. She hissed at him, “I should kill you right now.”

The sounds of gunfire rang through the walls.  Marlowe dove into a corner and covered her head.  She started crying, but didn’t try and stop herself.  This was how she would die, finally. She screamed and tried to unholster the gun at her side.  She suddenly wanted Negan, and called his name. She cried for him. Marlowe thought about him coming through the bedroom door that night, covered in blood and gore.  Blood and gore like she had seen so many times in combat theatre. Iraqi children. Babies. Pregnant women. An Afghan translator she had. Indiscernible pieces of what used to be a human being. Nicole and the babies.  “ _Help me,_ ” Marlowe heard herself say.  Her ears rang.

Eugene’s voice was somewhere, coming into the room.  “The answer is _no_!”

 _Why is he angry with me?_ Marlowe thought.  

“I will _never_ be on board with your plan.”  Eugene said.

Marlowe’s head was foggy.  She got the gun unholstered.  Eugene wasn’t with her. No one was.  Everyone was going to die. The children were all going to die. Gracie was already dead. Marlowe knew it. She had been left to die, and her little baby teeth were tearing into Joshua’s flesh.  Her tiny little teeth.

“Your invite is declined...I will not end up like Sasha…”

“Eugene,” Gabriel said.  “ _Eugene stop._ Look at her.  Help her.”

Marlowe had to work to get the safety off.  She was shaking. Everything was blurry and her face was wet and salty.   _Tears?  Blood? I have a head injury.  What is happening?_

Hand were grabbing her.  She tried to wave the gun.  They had explosives. She could hear them.  She screamed and bit at them. Her fingers closed around the trigger but the gun had been taken.  Hands were under her. “ _Negan…_ ” she wasn’t loud enough for him to hear.   _No,_ she remembered, _he was dead. Was he?_ Marlowe didn’t know anymore.  “ _Nicole!  Nicole, come with me.  Please!_ ”

Negan’s voice echoed.  “...did you _do_ to her, you fucking creepy fucking piece of _shit…Should have killed you yesterday.  Eugene!”_ he roared. “What the fuck happened?”

Marlowe heard mumbles, whispers.

“Can’t find Carson, Boss.”

_Simon, help me._

Negan’s voice boomed in Marlowe’s head.  “What the fuck happened? The priest trashed this place?  Dr. Smartypants, you find _something_ in this mess.  Find a shot. Find something. Stick her in the ass and put her to sleep.  I’ll carry her up.”

_“No, no Negan. I’ll be good. I promise.  Don’t hurt me. Please..,”_

“Honey, you _are_ good.  The fuck did he do?”

_“My head?  Oh god, my head.  Hurts...”_

“Your head is fine, baby.”

Marlowe touched her face. _“Blood.”_

Arms held her as she twisted her body.  “ _Please, no.  Please. Help me!  Somebody help me!”_ She felt her pants being pulled from her hip.  A sting. “ _Negan, please…”_

“It’s okay, baby.”  He was crying. “I’m here, Lucille.  I’m not leaving you again...I love you. I just want _you_ .  I want us to be _together…_ ”

***

“Where is he?”  

Laura looked at Sherry.  “Baby girl, he’s out.”

Marlowe sat up.  She was on Negan’s bed, her hair flat with sweat.  “ _Where?_ ”

“He went to see Rick,” Sherry said.

“Why?"

Laura put a hand on Marlowe’s leg.  “You need to stay in bed, Mar. Not sure what happened, but we are under _strict_ orders to…”

“Alexandria?”

“What?”

Marlowe leaned to the side.  “Oh god. I think I’m going to vomit.  Can you two please get Carson to bring up some...I’m going to puke.  I need meds.” Marlowe slid off the bed and andran into the bathroom.

Sherry stepped inside.  “Laura is getting the doctor.  I’ll bring crackers. Are you okay?”

Marlowe threw up into the toilet.  “I’m fine. Just barfing.” Sliding onto the cool floor, she trembled.  “Can you get some ginger ale? I know Eugene has some.”

“Sure thing, babe.”

Marlowe crawled to the bathroom door and watched Sherry leave.  As fast as she could, Marlowe swigged some mouthwash, and kept it in her mouth as she pulled some cargo pants and a tank top from her chest of drawers.  She put her hair into a bun and grabbed one of the handguns from the cabinet. She put an extra clip into a duffel bag as she spit into the sink.

Outside the door, J.D. stood up from his chair.  “Uh, no. Negan is already…”

Marlowe leaned on her cane.  “I’ve been puking. I need help in here.”

“Ah, okay, let me..”

Marlowe shoved J.D. into the room and slapped handcuffs on him and a radiator pipe.  

“Ciao,” she said, throwing the cane down and grabbing her duffel bag.  She’d studied the map in the last few days and knew the way to Alexandria by heart. Her stomach rumbled painfully, so she would be sure to snag some bread on the way out.  

Two things were on her mind: bringing Negan home, and killing Rick Grimes.


	19. "Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit"

Marlowe felt a gun in her back.  “Look, I know you have orders, but…” She put her hands up and started to turn around.

“Yeah, but me and Gary are supposed to protect you.  And you’re not leaving us this time. Get in.” Laura holstered her gun and opened the passenger side of the car.  “I’m driving. I know the back way. Gary and I have to join D. at the roadblock, and we’ll drop you off.”

"Glad to see you both."  Marlowe jumped into the sedan. “No Backstreet Boys, Gary.”

“Hey, fuck you, Marlowe,” he said behind her.  

“So what’s the plan?”  Laura asked as she sped through the gate.  

“First I need to know everything you do about what is going down in Alexandria.”

“Okay, then let’s _Thelma and Louise_ this.”

From the backseat, Marlowe heard a groan.  She said, “Fine. You can go off the cliff with us too, Gary.”

***

“I can’t wait,” Marlowe told Laura through the car window.  

They had pulled into place behind the Alexandria community.  “The back door,” Laura had called it. She had made Marlowe duck down when they dropped Gary off with Simon on the way.

“Why don’t you go puke some more.”  Laura was standing close enough to the car to talk o her friend.  She pretending to radio someone. “Just keep your head down until we roll out.”

“I need to go now.” Marlowe was about to gun the car when she saw an eighteen-wheeler come through the makeshift wall.  Taking her shot, she jumped into the driver's seat and drove the car around the safezone.

***

Rifle on her back and gun in holster, she could hear Negan pontificating in the distance over a PA system.  _So this is Alexandria,_ she thought.  

The Saviors had left an opening in the gate and she walked through it,careful not to get made.  By either side  

Explosions started and Marlowe fought the urge to cover her ears and hide. She had to walk through it, had to find Negan.  

Following a trail of smoke bombs, she saw a thin boy.   _Carl._

Using the explosions to cover the sound of her footsteps, she ran through some grass to get ahead of the boy.  He was limping.

Marlowe came up from behind him.  “ _Carl!_ ”

“Get away from me.  You’re one of them.”

“Please, let’s talk. Get away from here. You’re going to get…”  Marlowe recognized the car in front of Carl.  _“Run toward me, now!”_

Carl stared at her.  

Marlowe ran to him and dragged him by his oversized shirt aways from the beige Ford Escort. The car exploded.

“Kid, where are you going?”

Carl shoved her.  “I’m not taking you with me.  You’re one of them.”

“I don’t know _who_ I am anymore.”  She snatched off her dog tags and tossed them to him.  “See this? I’m Lieutenant Clementina Marlowe, United States Army.  That’s about _all_ I fucking know right now.  I don’t hurt women or kids.”  Marlowe held out her hands. “Unless they have bombs strapped to them.”

“You were a soldier?”

“Am. I _am_ a soldier.”

“I can’t take you with me.”

“You goin’ to see your dad?”

“You’ll try to kill him.”

“Yeah.  You're right.  But a bunch of our people are dead.  He’s responsible for my friend Mara dying, and for a baby at the outpost dying…”

“Gracie.”

Marlowe stopped walking toward the boy.  “Yes. How did you…?”

“My dad found her.”

Marlowe began crying.  “Where is she? Where’s her dad?”

“He gave her to someone to take care of.  I don’t know about her dad.”

Marlowe dropped to her knees.  “I want to see her.”

“Is she yours?”

“No, but…”

“There was a little handmade book with her. The cover said ‘To Gracie, from Clementine.’ My dad brought it too.  You’re Clementine.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s really sweet.  I love all the drawings you did.  The Buddhist prayers in it, too.”

“Her dad asked for it.  His name was Joshua. He’d come and meditate with me.  So I made Gracie a little coloring book, Buddhist primer.  It’s like the one I made my nephews and niece.”

“I brought it to my friend Siddiq. We were going to capture walkers, but we looked at it instead.  Siddiq is Moslem, but he wanted to see the Buddhist stuff too. It’s really nice.”

“Thanks.”  

Carl tossed her dog tags back to her as she stood up. “What do you want, I mean, with all this?  Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, Carl.  I’m on yours.  And all the kids'.”

“They’re not going to stop.”

“Who?”

“Any of them.  Us. Negan.”

“You’re right.”

“We can’t just stand here.”

“I’m lost, kid. I don’t know what to do.”

“I can’t take you to my dad.”

“I know.”  Marlowe walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder.  Her older nephew was… _would have been..._ about Carl’s again.  She stared at him, trying to imagine what Elijah would look like now.   

“You’re staring at me.”

“Sorry.  You going somewhere ultra safe?”

“Yeah.”

“Then get the hell outta here.”

“What?”

“ _Vaya con dios_ , kid.  Scram.”

Carl hesitated as he turned around.  Finally, he took off running.

Marlowe watched the boy run off, trying to decide what to do.  Letting the nausea wash over her as she thought of her sister and family, she watched the houses burn. The heat was upon her, and thought she could smell _everything._   Sweat dripped off her face.  She thought of the time she watched _Gone with the Wind_ with her grandmother on basic cable.  Atlanta burned as Scarlett drove her sister and their children away in a horse and buggy.

She heard a truck barrelling through.  A man jumped out of the driver’s side cab.  She could tell by his silhouette it was Negan.

Marlowe started to run across the way to him when a hand grabbed her arm. _Dammit_. She had been too lost in her own thoughts and watching the truck pull in.  She’d been made. Feeling the gun in her back, she rolled her eyes and put up her hands.

“Turn around slowly,” the man said.

In a bored monotone, Marlowe said, “Oh, don’t hurt me.  I’m just a poor little girl.”

“You’re not an Alexandrian.  I mean, are you?”

Marlowe slowly turned around and the looked at the man.  He was tall, bald, and had a goatee. He reminded her of Preston.  “No, I’m not.”

“Well, uh…”  He aimed his gun at her.

“You should probably check me for weapons.”  She raised an eyebrow at him. His body odor was making the fruit in her stomach rise uncomfortably.

The sweat glistened off the man’s head.  “I mean, do you got any?”

“Yeah.”

The man waved his gun.  “Then… hand ‘em to me.”

“No.”

“I’ll shoot.”

“Okay.”  Marlowe sighed.  She was tired of this. Putting her hands down, she scratched at an itch on her collarbone.  “Are you done?”

“Don’t… don’t get an attitude with me.”  He was shaking. Itchy Trigger Finger Man was going to shoot her if she didn’t get it together.

“You should check me for weapons.”

The man holstered his gun and walked over to her.  When he was close enough, Marlowe smacked his hand and grabbed his chin with her right hand in one motion.  She encircled his head with both arms and took him to the ground before he probably knew what was happening.  She went down with him and choked him out.

“Well, well,” she heard Negan say as he walked up. “I _almost_ had you shot.  It is hard to see in the dark.” A couple of dozen men walked up and surrounded him in a horseshoe shape. “Nah, probably would have mistaken you for a kid anyway, Shorty.”

Marlowe stood up.  She was relieved to see, and he winked at her.  The last thing she would do was break his command face.  “Go fuck yourself, Danny Zuko.”

Negan pantomimed flipping up his collar.  “Gentlemen, take Olivia Newton-John to the truck and guard her.”

“I’ve been in worse places, Negan.  Much worse.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you bit off Saddam Hussein’s dick once and took over Baghdad using only a can of hairspray and a cigarette lighter.”  He stepped close to her. Negan’s face grew somber and his eyes met hers. “But right now I’ll breathe a little easier if you’re home.”

“You’re about to do something stupid.”

Negan smiled and swung Lucille over his shoulder.  “ _Ah,_ she knows me.  I love having dinner with you, Doc, but tonight I gotta hot date with a curly-haired asshole.”

“Wow.  That’s a porno I’d pay to see.  Didn’t know you were into anal.”

Negan held up his hand and gestured a finger at this men to come.  “Take her home, boys. We need the doctor, so get her there without a scratch.  I’m sure she’s here to patch up our people, but it’s curfew time now.”

“Negan…”  Marlowe cocked her head and flared her nostrils. “Goddammit it, I want him as much as you…”

“Sorry, this is not a democracy.”

“At least let me go with…”

“ _No._ ”  

Negan had never taken that tone with her, and it made her take a step back, away from him.  

“Absolutely not. Not up for discussion.”

***

Marlowe convinced the four men assigned to her to keep her in one of the trucks, because if they drove back now, they were likely to get caught in an ambush by the convoy or something.  She was surprised at how easily she persuaded the men. Maybe they had seen her _krav maga_ moves earlier and decided it was easier to listen to their _chargé d'affaires_ than to argue and risk a dick ironing, or worse.

The wait for Negan aggravating.  Marlowe sat in the back of the truck, chewing the skin around her fingernails, something she hadn’t done in a couple of years.  She stretched every part of her body, being careful not to overextend the hip flexor and quads on her injured leg.

“You nervous, Doc?” One of the men asked her. “You know he gets outta tighter scrapes.”

“True, but this is different.  Skirmishes are one thing, but…”  

“You okay?”

“Why does everyone keep asking that?  I just need a cracker or something.”

“Stress goes straight to my stomach, too.”

“So, regale me with stories of your life.”

The man smiled, his teeth white in the dimmed light. “Oh, man. What you wanna know?”

“Eh, start from wherever.  I need a diversion from my anxiety.”

***

Marlowe had dozed off when she heard Negan’s voice booming from outside the truck.  He was yelling, growling really, making Marlowe think of a lion. She could hear him hitting the door of the truck with his fist.  

“Told ya,” the man she knew now was named Max said.  He smiled again, wide. “Big Man, he like a _cat._ _Nine-fuckin'-lives._ He ain’t gonna go down ‘til he  _ready_  to go down."


	20. “Teasing me with your fire, my finger's on the trigger”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting closer to season 8 finale stuff, and then... season 9!
> 
> Hope to be at least to season 8 finale by the weekend, God willing and the creek don't rise.

“You gotta anything for PTSD?”  Marlowe said as she came through the infirmary door.  “I just got back from watching Rome burn.”

Carson looked up from stitching up a Savior’s face and frowned at her. “Step out and wait your turn.”

“I’m gettin’ fired on my day _off_?  Is it Friday or something?”

Carson walked away from the exam table and put his finger in Marlowe’s face.  He spoke through clenched teeth. “I’ve just about _had_ it with you and your leather-wearing Nero.”

“Get your hand outta my face.  Motherfucker I just _told_ you I need something for PTSD.”

“Do what the rest of us do, suck it the fuck up.”

***

Marlowe slept horribly that night.  

After her run-in with Carson, she’d knocked on Eugene’s door.  When he didn’t answer, she went back to her room.

J.D. was sitting outside Negan’s door.

“Don’t you ever fucking sleep?”

J.D. shrugged and went back to reading _Fifty Shades of Grey._

Marlowe put her ear to the door and could hear Negan pacing. She knew he was pissed after, as she had heard, Rick Grimes had slipped through his fingers. She could have covered his six and taken Alexandria’s leader out. She was angry with herself for not paying attention. If she had been focused, she could have followed Negan without him knowing, and turned the tables.  It wouldn’t be the worst thing if she sniped Grimes. Simon had told her the prick had gotten in a few licks and Negan had a swollen lip and some cuts. There would be no insisting the man stayed back at HQ for anything.  She knew his type, and he would be paying for his pig-headedness sooner than later.

She thought better of checking in on him and walked over to her room.

Even the Trazodone she’d taken didn’t help.  Marlowe had woken several times, staying up fretting over anything and everything.  

She promised herself first thing in the morning she would hang out with the goats, and find Eugene.  They could at least talk “Star Trek” or video games until the shit hit the fan again.

When she finally did get to sleep, it was heavy.  Marlowe woke up to fresh flowers in her room with no idea of whom or when they had gotten there.  The thought didn’t disturb her; she felt safe at the Sanctuary, and didn’t feel like anyone was out to kill either of the doctors.

She’d missed breakfast, so she had the guard outside her door get on some food for her as she cleaned up.  She was hoping Eugene was around. She figured Laura would be in de-briefings all day. Marlowe wanted no part of the meetings, as she’d had her fill of this battle.  She could scarcely get her mind off the mistakes she’d made recently. She felt guilt for storming in on Carson last night. It wasn’t self-care, she told herself, but being aggressive and interrupting another person’s treatment.

 _Or was that her grandmother talking?_ Nice girls stay out of the way and are meek and always let others go first.  Was she in the wrong? She didn’t know. Everything was unclear at the moment.  She wanted to sit in on the tactical meetings today, but didn’t know what she could add.  Her emotions were too high for some reason.

On the way to check on the goats she saw Negan coming down the corridor.  She walked up to him.

He kept walking.

“Negan?”

“Not now, Marlowe.”

She stood in the hallway, her chest tightening.  Instead of going to see her goats, she went straight to Eugene’s door.

Eugene opened the door before Marlowe knocked and walked past her.  

“Hey, G?”  Marlowe called.

“I have a meeting with the boss,” Eugene said as he walked quickly down the hallway.

Marlowe shrugged and went to the infirmary to do work.  

Marlowe expected Carson there, as he pulled long hours, but the infirmary was empty.  Looking around, she noticed several boxes of supplies were missing. _I hope Carson's found a new storage space,_ she thought, worried about the alternative.

***

After several patients and dinner, Marlowe sat in her room trying to meditate when she heard someone knocking.  She jumped from her chair, hoping it was Negan, who she hadn’t seen since passing him in the hallway earlier.

“Eugene, hey.  You okay?”

Eugene walked past her into the room.  “I am not fucking by any means ‘okay.’”

“Sit down.  Just take a breath and talk to me.”

Eugene sat on the bed and Marlowe pulled up a chair.  He punched his thigh slowly, again and again. “I reckon I don’t know where to start.  Today has been a shit day and I am sure my cortisol levels have risen to the point of a life-threatening illness.”

“Yeah,” Marlowe sighed.  “I think we’re all there.”

Eugene started crying.  “I don’t know where to start.”

Marlowe sat on the bed next to him, and rested her head on his shoulder.  

“I am being moved to a different location.  I will have supervisory responsibilities to my own men and outpost for the sole purpose of creating bullets for our de facto soldiers. The second thing is, Dr. Carson and his patient, the Reverend Gabriel Stokes, are, in fact, AWOL.”

“Wait.   _What?_ ”  Marlowe sat up and rubbed her temples.

“Yes.  It appears they stole a car from the motor pool and escaped.”

“ _Jesus._  He took medical supplies with him…”

“Oh, and that is not the icing on the lofty, three-tiered shit cake of this fucked up party.”

“Enlighten me.”

Eugene started sobbing again.  “Carl.”

Marlowe felt her breath catch.  She whispered, “ _What?_ ”

“It appears he was mortally injured in an explosion trying to pull another Alexandrian out of harm’s way last night.”

Marlowe got up from the bed and went to the window.  She crossed her arms. “There’s a mistake, Eugene. I just saw him.  I _just saw him last night._ He told me he was going somewhere safe.”

“No,”  Eugene said through sobs.  “Rick radioed Negan this morning and told him.  They found…”

Marlowe turned around and watched Eugene put his head in his hands.  She went to him and knelt, laying her head on his thigh.

Eugene pushed the words out.  “They found his hat and they found charred remains.”

The two of them sat together for while, Marlowe sinking down and resting herself against the foot of the bed.  She wrapped her arms around his lower leg and sobbed.

Eugene put a hand on her back.  “He’d written letters. One of them is to you.”

***

“So I do not have to report there until around lunch time tomorrow,” Eugene said in the hallway.  “We can play video games and drink wine until quite late.”

“Fine.  The infirmary can’t start without me, anyway.  I can have a late day tomorrow.”

As the two started toward Eugene’s room, Negan’s door opened.  Marlowe grabbed Eugene’s arm and they hung back.

“Oh, Frankie,” Negan said as he walked into his doorway.  He was shirtless, barefoot, and had on tight boxer briefs.  “The things you did to my body. Hot damn. I needed that.”

The tall, red-headed woman stood in the doorway wearing a tank top and skimpy shorts. “Anytime.  Pleased to be of service.”

Negan bit his lower lip and smiled.  “Mmm. You are _just_ what I needed.”  

Frankie smacked Negan playfully on this arm and walked away.  

Negan watched her, still biting his lip. He looked away and made eye contact with Marlowe.  Immediately, his eyes widened and he opened his mouth.

Marlowe grabbed Eugene’s arm and the two turned around and headed to Eugene’s room.

***

“Pick your poison,” Eugene said, opening his refrigerator.

“Whatever is hardest.  Let’s paint the town red, until we can’t find the holes in a ladder.”

“Still got this Tennessee Fire you brought.”

“Hmm,” Marlowe said.  “‘The Tennessee Fire I brought.’ If I live to write my memoirs, that’ll be the title.  Fine, I’ll grab the cups. How much water you want in yours? Don’t try for some Dutch courage.  You’ll be puking into porcelain later instead of fighting windmills.”

“I’d about rather be puking into windmills.”

“Lemme get the water.”

“Miss Clementine, you have an open, round face.  It causes me to put trust in you and feel a platonic and intellectual interest in being around you.  Truth be told, I might find you attractive if I did not feel a fraternal bond toward you. There is also the fact that I am scared, as they say, ‘shitless’ of your boyfriend.”   

Marlowe laughed, “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Eugene poured some of the bourbon into the cups Marlowe held.  “I am not sure if said person is aware of this.”

“He seemed aware of Frankie.”

“Indeed.”  Eugene set down the bottle.

“Shall we raise a glass to…” Marlowe stopped herself and tried to read Eugene’s face.  

As if Eugene read her mind, he said, “To Carl.”  

The two took a shot and stood silently for a few breaths.

“Ah,” Eugene said.  “This is like drinking cinnamon mouthwash.”

“You don’t know what’s good.”

“I certainly do.  I’m going to kill a bottle of wine.”

***

Marlowe lay with her head propped up on the arm of the couch, her legs in Eugene’s lap.  

“I feel a certain kinship with this android Data,” Eugene said.

“You _have_ watched ‘Star Trek: Next Generation’ before tonight?”

“Most assuredly.  It is my favorite of the many series.”

“Mine’s ‘Deep Space Nine.’”

“A worthy contender.”

“Hottest captain.”

Eugene rubbed Marlowe’s calves.  “Which of these characters would be you, if you were on this television show?”

“Tasha.”

“She meets a terrible end.”

“True, but I wouldn’t be the person I am without looking up to her character.”

Eugene stopped the VHS tape as the end credits began to roll.  “So your action heroes of the 1980s led you to the military?”

“Yeah, but I hoped to fight aliens, not the undead.”  Marlowe held out her cup. “Hit me again.”

Eugene looked over at her.  “Clementine, I do believe by the slurring of your words and the amount of partaking you have done that you need no more spirits.”

“It’s cool.”

Eugene held up the bottle.  “Are you cognizant of the fact that going by the ounces lost on this annealed glass bottle leads me to believe you, in fact, well over the recommended blood alcohol level for someone of your diminutive size?”

Marlowe raised an eyebrow.  “Did you just call me short?”

Eugene furrowed his brows and nodded.  “As a matter of fact, I did. True to form, you are more concerned about finding jocularity in the situation rather than preserving your health.”

“Probably.  I’m not _driving_ anywhere or operating heavy machinery though.  I don’t see any Georgia patrol officers around to tag me for swerving.”

“Have you had a run-in with said law enforcement in your past?  That was a most specific attempt at levity.”

“Yeah.  They’ll get you down there for going five over the speed limit.  Assholes. Asshole bullies with tiny dicks.  Probably screwing each other's wives.”

“Hmm.  Well, in any case, the symptoms of alcohol poisoning include a downgrade in the body’s temperature, slurring of words, vomit…”

“Yes.  I worked in an ER.”

“Do you feel confusion?”

“Only about my morals.  I don’t fucking know what I’m doing here.  I guess this is home now and I love you guys, so I'll fight to the death for you.”

“Would you care to elaborate?”

“I _am_ on your couch. Is the doctor in?”

“I am.  Dr. Porter is currently accepting walk-ins but only with in-network mental health insurance, which I will conjecture you have and to which I will send my bill.  There is no copay, but I will not be cleaning up vomit, as that is not in the understood job description of ‘chief engineer.’”

Marlowe giggled.  “You’re our Mr. Scott!”

“Do you often make ‘Star Trek’ jokes when you are over the limit?”

“I try to reference it often.”

“So how do I do this?  Do I use the well-known fiction trope of asking about your childhood?”

“Well,” Marlowe smiled.  “You could be like my _real_ boyfriend... or ex.  I broke up with him before I left for this.  Too clingy. Anyway, yeah. So he’s a head shrinker.  From London. Fucking. London. Of _all_ goddamn places.”

“Where is this man now?”

“Back on base.  I wasn’t drawing the long bow when we met, G.  Everything I said I meant. But I’ve never met Doctor...what the fuck?  Doctor Human Genome Project Man.”

“Dr. Ellis.”

“Yup. Never.  I _am_ working with what’s left of the government to sort things out, but it’s fucking useless.”

“Hmm.  So there are, in fact, groups that are studying on how to cure this disease?”

“Look, I don’t care if you believe me or not.  I have a base not too far from here. We _are_ close to what’s left of DC, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the base _used_ to be named after an _old, white,_ traitor. Civil War prick. Now it’s ‘Fort Greenhow.’  And… here’s the _best_ part.  We _never_ have to drive NY Avenue in DC again.  Or in fucking Richmond traffic. Oh my god.”

“Are you all...close?”

“What?”

“Close to a cure?”

“Yeah, no.  Looking at ways to stop all the walkers in the meantime.  Long-range acoustics and weaponized sonic and ultrasonic weapons.  En masse genocide of the dead. A big, fat _deus ex machina_ to this epic tragedy.  Something with a lot of megahertz. You heard of the ‘brown note?”

“Yes.  Isn’t it a sonic weapon as well?”

“Well, it’s an infrasonic frequency that causes people to literally shit their pants.  Oh, that douche canoe Negan with his Energizer Bunny mouth would fucking love it. Anyway, it all has to do with the resonance.”

“So it’s the vibrations.”

“Basically.”

“So you guys plan on finding a frequency that will affect only the walkers?”

“Now you’re cooking with propane.”

“You’re going to use the brown note to kill all the walkers?”

“Nope.  It’s a green note, because it preserves flora and fauna. Oh, and you’re gonna love this, since it has to do with sounds waves, hence being _sonic_ , it’s called…”  Marlowe sat up. “Project _Hedgehog._ ”

“Fuck, I reckon our generation is runnin’ stuff now.”  Eugene handed her the bottle.

“What’s this?”

“I suppose a bit more is okay.”

“You’re a good man.  I want you to know, if I die from alcohol poisoning, you can have my belongings.”

“Would that happen to perhaps include any copies of the Atari 2600 game _Atlantis II_ or issue number seventy-six, from 1978,  of _2000 AD_ , the British comic book series?  That issue includes the beginning of the famous character Robo-Hunter, AKA Sam Slade.”

“Wow.  Specific. No.  Lost my comic books in a move.  I had all the _Watchmen_ issues and a series of _Swamp Thing_ though, and a bunch of prog rock on vinyl.”

“Books?”

“Oh yeah.  Grew up around books.  Our house was like living in an overfilled library.  Only with piles of dirty dishes and roaches.” Marlowe took another shot of the bourbon.  “My only childhood friends, a bunch of dead tree remnants that smelled like must and belonging.”

“Same.”

Marlowe held up her cup.  “Here’s to lonely, broken kids who grew up to be lonely, broken adults.”

***


	21. Baby, Baby Let Me Sleep On It

Marlowe heard Eugene snoring as she lay next to him.  He was lying almost diagonally on the couch, half-sitting up, his feet propped on the recliner near the couch.  Marlowe had fallen asleep with her head on his lap. She was grateful for her short height that allowed her to sleep anywhere. Eugene was over six feet and had once told her it had been decades since he’d had the luxury of soaking in a bathtub.

She felt relaxed, her head swimming with alcohol, so she let herself drift back off.

_The Wolves. Their hands were on her body.  Next to her was Laura, naked. Marlowe couldn't see, but baby Grace was there, and so were Carl and Eugene. Mara was on the other side of Marlowe, her face crawling with roaches, her eyes rotted out._

_Marlowe could hear Rick’s voice. “You lieutenants...you’re gonna have to make up your minds.”_

_Marlowe tried to speak, “I’m not a lieutenant here.  I belong somewhere else.”_

_“You’re in Negan’s bed, L.T.  He’s your general. You couldn’t even keep your rank, L.T.  You should be major or captain. The queen of bad decisions. Getting rank busted during the apocalypse.  I told you what’s gonna happen. This has to happen now. This is the only way.”_

_Marlowe couldn’t move her body.  Not her toes, not anything._

_Rick leaned over her, a shadowed face that smelled of death.  “You keep costing lives and resources. They’re all gonna die.  I will kill you in your sleep. You don’t deserve anything else.”_

_Light came and, with it, Negan’s voice.  “No one will hurt you again, Clementine. I promise.  I’m your savior. I’m the first, but I will be the last and the only protector you need. You’ll never be alone…”_

“...alone in here, Eugene.  What the fuck? Is that our lovely doctor?”

“Indeed, sir. Please forgive me as I seem to have fallen asleep.”

“Yeah.  Now you need to tell me what the fucking extra-large anal beads is going on.”

“Sir, I would prefer if we keep our voices down as our mutual friend here is inebriated. Falling down, passed out drunk, as it were. She managed to decimate quite a large quantity of reserve bourbon on her own.”

“I can fucking see that, Eugene. With her head in your lap, hair cascading over your legs like a waterfall.”

“Very poetic, sir.  Indeed, she is like the proverbial fairy tale princess awaiting her true love’s kiss.”

“Is she out?”

“Very.”

“You touch her?”

“Her meaning to me is akin to the Greek notion of _philia_ , a love felt toward one’s family, without regard to any romantic or sexual arousal. She is like a sister to me.  To be concerned about her genitalia would be…”

“Stop. Don’t talk about Clem’s sausage wallet. That is something I don’t want to hear about from other guys.  Part of the guy code. Don’t covet or talk about another man’s shit.”

“Sir, with all due respect, I would not now nor would I ever classify my beloved friend here as a man’s ‘shit.’  She is a human being, one who feels deeply. She was also drinking copious amounts of alcohol because she caught a glimpse of you and the little mermaid Frankie coming out of your room.  I believe, but I could be telling tales out of school, that Marlowe was…”

“Jealous?”

“Hurt.  Heartbroken.  Crestfallen. Inconsolable.  Distressed. Sorrowful. Disconsolate…”

“Eugene, I get the message.”

“Well, just making sure you have accepted the collect call and are taking notes, Boss.  I will work for you like a Thoroughbred colt at the Kentucky derby. I will take you to the Triple Crown.  But I must inform you that I do not appreciate nor will I tolerate a disrespect being done to my friend here.”

“My, my.  I didn’t see you talking like that to me.  I like it. Shows you’re not just some dope who’s going along with the racket to keep from ending up in cement shoes.”

“No sir.  I will wiggle like a fat earthworm in the rain to get under the soil, to save myself.  But when it concerns those closest to me, and there have not been many of that nature, you might want to get clear of the wrath I could potentially set down upon you.  So maybe you want to think about that before you parade a lovely, alabaster-skinned Roman goddess piece of biological art like Frankie in front of our doctor. She’s not as happy-go-lucky as she lets on. I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“Neither do I, chief.  Neither do I.”

“Good. Then we are copacetic.”

“Let me just say, I like you standing up for her, even though you talking to me like that makes me wish I had Lucille with me.  But I couldn’t mash your brains into ground chuck with a lady on your lap. Instead, we’ll let this go.”

Marlowe felt herself being picked up.

“I promise I won’t hurt her.  She’s going to sleep in the big bed tonight.  With yours truly. Stop eyeing me like I’m taking our puppy to the vet to be put to sleep.  I won’t hurt her. Between us, she is the _last_ fucking person I’d hurt.  Also, as _if_ it’s any of your goddamned business, I had Frankie come up to my room for trigger-point massage.  I’m too old for this shit, and Rick fucked up my leg. Again. Can’t be Prince-fucking-Charming if my body’s falling apart.”

***

“Stop, Rick. Don’t…”

“Clemmie, it’s me,” Negan whispered.  “Just getting you comfortable.”

“ _Don’t._ ”  In the darkness, Marlowe tried to push him away, but the room was turning.  

“Baby, I think you’re having a nightmare.  It’s okay. You’re really warm and I know you like to be cool when you sleep.”

“ _Negan._ ”  Marlowe felt herself crying.  “I am so drunk.”

“I know. You were passed out on Eugene.  Like two puppies in a box. You smell like booze.  God, your sweat smells like booze.”

“Sorry.”

“No need. Wish _I’d_ gotten shit-faced. This has been _this most fucked up_ day.  I don’t know where to start.”

“That’s what Eugene said.”

Negan sighed as he tossed her pants to the floor.  Marlowe felt him wipe his hand from her bra to her underwear.  He stopped at her thigh and gently rubbed her skin with his thumb.  

“Frankie, huh?”

“Massage. Swear to fucking Christ.”

“I know. Just warn me first.”

“You had your head in another man’s lap.  I wanted to squash him like a rotten jack-o’-lantern. I know you two are buddies, and he’d piss himself if he knew I was mad at him.  But, when I walked in and saw you there, lying like Sleeping Beauty, like a painting… All I could think about was wrapping my hands around his neck and squeezing.  Hell, I’ve caught men fucking my former wives and didn’t give a shit like that. I’d be pissed, but pissed in the way you’d be if you’d just gotten off your long-ass shift at Burger King and found out someone broke into your car to steal your Bon Jovi CDs.  This, this was an entirely different anger. Like someone had stolen my dog and then burned my house down. I don’t know.”

Marlowe reached up for him.  She pulled up his tee shirt.

“Hey, don’t be trying to get into my panties, babe.  I don’t just put out. You’re wasted anyway.”

“Not gonna puke on you.”

“Let’s wait until you’re sober and can make decisions. I gotta stop you right now.  I gotta know right now, before we go any further. Do you love me? Will you love me forever?”

Marlowe’s pulsed quickened.  “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Oh, quoting a wise man.”

“Ah, one of the great thinkers of our time, Mr. Meat Loaf.”

“Jim Steinman.  He wrote the song.”

“Dork.”

“Crazy lady.  I don’t know if I _want_ to mess with you.  You might burn my dick off.”

“He had it coming.”

“Didn’t say he didn’t.  What the fuck happened there, anyway.”

Marlowe tried to roll over but any movement made her nauseated.  “Not gonna talk about it.”

“Did they… Were you?”

“Not right now, Negan.”

“Look, something happened.  You weren’t exactly emotionally intact to start with.”

“Well, we are living in the end times, or whatever the fuck.”

“True. But I know you used to cut yourself.”

“Nope.  That was my sister’s hobby.”

Negan put a hand on the inside of her thigh.  “Really? Had to do this ‘non-suicidal self-harm prevention’ class when I was a teacher.  I know what the fuck these scars are. I’ve seen them and felt them.”

“I didn’t do it.  You’re pissing me off.”

“Accident?  Surgery? Boyfriend?”

“Stepfather.  One of a few, anyway. The end.”

Negan laid down next to her on top of the covers and took her hand.  “I’m sorry. I truly am.”

“Thanks for not tossing me back into the ocean.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

“It’s what men do.”

“I ain’t other men. Look, I’ve told you, my calling on this earth is to save.  You are safe with me, and I don’t care if I’m the first man to do this, but I’ll protect you to my dying breath.  You’re not alone anymore.”

Marlowe felt tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Which is why I have been _past_ angry with you.  I fucking fucked up and lost Rick the Prick because my head wasn’t in the game.  I was worried about whether my men would be jumped on the way back here, and something would happen to you.  I had to put on my poker face when I saw you. I wanted to ream your ass out but couldn’t. You’re my weakness.  That gets out, you’re a sitting duck. From now fucking on, you stay here. I don’t give a fuck what you or anyone else things.  My word is law here. Part of me _did_ want you to see me with Frankie. I wanted to hurt you. I resented you. You came here and knocked the sense out of me. You make me second-guess myself and rethink what I do. You scare the _shit_ out of me sometimes, but I want to have the beach ball-sized nuts to tell you what I think.”

“Which is?”

“Which is that I want to scale your walls. Climb over the moat and hurl myself past the battlements.  Whatever dragon is keeping you locked inside your own head better bake a cake and get out the good silver.  I got my ass-kicking boots on.”

“You murder people and terrorize communities.  You didn’t give your ‘wives’ a choice in their job description.”

“That’s fair.  I never said I was Oskar Schindler. I’m just an asshole with a bat.”

“But you’re _my_ asshole.”

“Yes. That is about the only thing I know to be a fact.”

Marlowe scooted herself closer to him.  More tears fell from her eyes. “Carl.”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Collateral damage,” she said as more to ease their grief than anything.

“No. Fuck that. It was our fault, me and the lieutenants. Our fucking plan. Burn the place. We did that. He was a kid. Just a little dude who probably found hair on his nuts last week.  I wanted to get to know that boy. If I’d ever gotten to have one, a son...well, fuck.”

“Rick has Gracie.”

“Who?”

“The baby I told you about.”

“Oh, Clementine. Oh, honey. At the outpost?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s the little girl Laura said was making your ovaries jump up and down?”

“Wow, she loves running that bus over me.”

“She’s crazy about you. We all are. Anyway,” Negan sighed.  “We’ll get that kid back.”

“Maybe she’s safe?  Carl said she was.”

“I don’t trust his pigfucker dad.”

“Surely he wouldn’t hurt a baby? You said he has another kid?”

“Little girl. Toddler.”

“There’s no way.”

“They killed Gracie’s dad?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll get her. Bring her back. Hell, you got first dibs on laying claim to that girl.  You ready for me to pour some wax over the adoption paperwork and stick my insignia ring on it?”

Marlowe laughed.  “You really need to do that.  Weddings. Birth and death certificates.  Decrees.”

“That would fucking be fun.”

“See?  Let’s get past this steaming pile of elephant shit with Alexandria and then we’ll have fun making this place the Westminster Abbey of the apocalypse.”

“We can have a monarchy.”

“It’s really more of a meritocracy.”

“You could be queen.”

“I’m really more of a court jester.”

“I’d be Arthur and you’d be my Guinevere.”

“Um, so who’s Lancelot?”

“Jesus. Just let a guy have some fun.  I want to have a round table.”

“Did you pull Lucille out of a lake?”

“Something like that.”

“Let’s sleep.  We have work tomorrow.  I guess I’m flying solo in the infirmary now.  Carson didn’t happen to have anymore siblings, did he?”

Negan laughed.  “Fuck, I wish. Can’t believe that bastard ran off.”   He rolled over and kissed Marlowe. “Good night, my darling.  I’ll see your beautiful face at breakfast.”


	22. ABANDON HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE

“My, _my._ Who _is_ this beautiful flower coming out of my bathroom?  Wearing _girl_ clothes, no less?”  Negan stood up from his couch and took Marlowe’s hand. “Got about ten minutes before I need to leave for the outpost with Eugene.”

“Sorry,” Marlowe said, drying her hair with a towel.  “After I examined the priest this morning I felt...gross.  Needed another shower.”

“He is creepy as fuck.”  Negan put an arm around her and pulled her close.  Negan leaned down to kiss her neck.

“I meant the priest is a disease vector.  He’s got ghoul gonorrhea in his eyes.”

Negan looked up.  “What?”

“Bacterial infection.  It’s causing blindness, I think.  Like some pink eye. Probably quite contagious, which I wanted to mention before you roll out.” Marlowe ran her hand on Negan’s chest.

“Can that be weaponized?”  

Marlowe dropped her hands and walked to the window.  “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re talking about spreading disease, illness.  On the wake of so much death…”

Negan walked up behind her and put her hair to the side.  He breathed in the bare skin of her neck. “We’ve gotta win.  We’ve gotta get Gracie back. Find Laura.”

Marlowe turned around.  “What?” Her pulse quickened.  “ _Where_ is Laura?”

Negan looked down and rubbed the back of his neck.  “In all this mess, I guess I was too distracted to let you know.  Dwight and Laura got split up. Mel and her crew found him…”

Marlowe grabbed either side of Negan’s open jacket.  “It’s Dwight. I think he’s the mole. We have to find Laura.  At least fucking talk to him and see what happened to her. Oh my _god._ ”

“Clementine, slow down.”  Negan’s voice was soft. “We’ll find her.  She’s a fighter. Are you _sure_ Dwight is the scab working for Rick?”

“I’d had a feeling.”

Negan turned around and pace the room, dragging a palm down his jaw and chin.  “I had the very same thought.”

“I just want to know where Laura and Gracie are.”

“Me too, and we’ll find them.”

“Don’t give me platitudes.  I want them back.”

“Woman, we’ll get this done.  Now you need to start talking about how we can weaponize this deadite STD.”

“No.  It’s too risky.  Negan, love, we can’t just do that.  We will hurt people. Gabriel needs quarantining. _I_ shouldn’t have been near him today.”

“You’re right. I’ll have him moved, to an outpost, with people to take care of him.  He’s gone. Consider it done.”

Marlowe’s voice softened.  “Thank you. Make damned sure they use universal precautions.”

Negan wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.  He stroked her hair. “I’ve got to go. You hold down the fort?”

“I have to since your boy shot my colleague.”

“I am sorry, princess.”

“It’s not your fault.  When I was examining the preacher, he said Harlan pulled a gun on the Saviors who found them.”  Marlowe sighed and wrapped her arms around Negan’s waist inside his jacket. She laid her head on his torso.  “I’m just done with all this. I feel like with Carl, Gracie, and now Laura...and Eugene leaving… I just feel discouraged and tired.”

“I know.  This will all be over soon.  You sure you aren’t going to take off while I’m gone?”

“And go _where_?”

“Back to your people.  We’re only forty-five minutes or so away, according to Eugene.”

“Yeah, well… it’s too risky.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“Are you digging?”

“I just need reassurance from my best doctor that our contract is secure.”

“I’m your  _only_ doctor.”

“Still the best.”

“Are you worried I’ll leave?”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

“I’m not. This is my home now.”  Marlowe touched the parallel scratches on Negan’s cheek.  Every bruise and cut on Negan’s face made the thought of Rick Grimes gnaw uncomfortably in her mind. “You all are my family.  It’s why I fight so hard for what I do. I… I care about each of you.”

Negan took her face into his hands and kissed her as she stood on her tiptoes.  Negan nuzzled her face. “Walk me out, my darling Clementine.”

Marlowe stood near Negan as he leaned over to pick up Lucille.  The two walked out of the bedroom to meet the other Saviors.

***

“I don’t think you need to take your car from the motor pool for this,” Marlowe said.  The sunlight was warming her bare legs and arms. She’d kept her hair down and tried to look feminine to give Negan a send-off for the day.  “You need to ride with Simon in the truck.”

“Stop worrying,” Negan said, surprising her by being physically demonstrative in front of his men.  He leaned in and put his lips to her ear. “I’ll come home to you, Clemmie. Promise.”

“You better.  I’ll come find you if you don’t.”

“Oh, I do think you _would._ ”  Negan smiled at her.  “I have no doubts you’d come find me.”  He put Lucille over his arm and squeezed Marlowe’s hand.  

Simon swaggered over, hands in his pockets.  “Don’t worry, Doc. Dwighty-boy and I will bring your guy back.”  

Negan put his arm around Marlowe’s waist and turned to his lieutenant.  “Pretty sure I’m no longer just _a guy_.  I think I’ve gotten a promotion.”  He smiled down at Marlowe.

Marlowe gave Negan a half smiled, then nodded at Simon.  “I guess. I’ll probably keep the guy.”

Simon said, “Ah, two of my very _favorite_ people in the world.  It was almost worth getting stabbed in the leg to play matchmaker.”  He patted Negan on the back. “Don’t worry about this ruining your image.  Everyone knows about you and Princess Diana here.”

Negan frowned.  “Let’s not make a big production of this.  Don’t want any chinks in the armor to show.”

Simon laughed.  He turned to Marlowe and winked at her.  

Marlowe felt her stomach knot.  “Negan, let me say goodbye right quick,”  She glanced at Simon. “ _Privately._ ”

Negan looked at her and then back at Simon.  “Go load the truck, Simon.”

Marlowe grabbed Negan’s face and pulled him, as if going for a kiss.  “Something’s not right. You need to find an excuse to stay here.”

“Look, just because we’ve gone all Arthur and Guinevere, doesn’t mean you get to tell me how to run things.”

“And as your _chargé d'affaires?_ ”

“Which means I take your advice under consideration.  Nothing else.”

“My advice right now is to strongly consider staying here.  Something stinks to high heaven.”

Negan leaned down and gave Marlowe a quick kiss.  “You hold down the fort and bandage up your people.  I’ll see you this afternoon. We’ll take a late lunch and…”

“Don’t fucking patronize me.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Marlowe kissed Negan and walked over to Dwight, Simon, and Arat.  “Be careful, guys.”

Arat stepped forward and put a hand on Marlowe’s shoulder. “We will.”  The two embraced.

Dwight and Marlowe made eye contact for a second.  She tried to send him some sort of message with her expression.  As if he understood, he said, “Sherry ain’t getting bad news about me today, and neither will you about Negan.”

“Good.  Simon?”

 _There is that too-wide, used car salesman grin again,_ Marlowe thought.

“Oh, don’t worry about _us_ , Doc.”  He slapped Dwight on the shoulder.  “We’re all gonna be _just_ peaches.  Little class field trip.”

Marlowe nodded to the group, knowing there was nothing she could do.  

Negan came up behind her.  “Get ready to rock, troops.”  He put a hand on Marlowe’s shoulder and walked toward the motor pool.  

Marlowe watched them walk away, unable to shake the terrible feeling she had.  Just before the group walked through the gate, Negan stopped and turned to her.  His eyes were soft, and he blew her a somber kiss with his ungloved hand.

***

Night had come when the trucks came back to the Sanctuary.  

Marlowe had spent her day tending to patients and picking at food.  Nothing tasted good, not even the berries that were brought to her. She fretted, pacing the hallway outside the infirmary.  Doing anything was a chore,and she found herself napping several times in the room next door on the old, broken loveseat that smelled like beans and cigars.  

Every time she heard footsteps, she walked outside the room to see if there was any news.  No one knew anything yet.

With every patient, every chart, and every decision, worry ate at the back of Marlowe’s mind.  She couldn’t shake it, like constantly running a tongue over a space where a tooth had been. The spectre of doubt loomed large.  She didn’t understand why she hadn’t had enough balls to push the issue earlier, make him stay. Truthfully, she was exhausted. This was the first day she’d had in a while of quiet.  Alone with her own thoughts for the most part, Marlowe tried to internally regroup, and simply process everything that had happened.

She knew she had lost a good many people.  Everyone at the base probably thought she was dead.  She knew telling herself the trip would be too dangerous was an excuse to the stay at the Sanctuary, to stay with Laura and the others.  To stay with _him_.  She could have made the journey.  She could have insisted the Saviors take her.  

Now Mara and Carl were dead.  Eugene was moved. Gracie was with the Alexandrians.  Laura and Negan were missing. It always gave her pause that someone who was a stranger in recent memory could become so precious.  Weeks ago, she didn’t know any of these people, yet here she was, so enmeshed in their lives she couldn’t function as she worried so.  

Marlowe nibbled at a piece of toast with some butter that the kitchen had sent up for her.  She was grateful, and had told them so. She knew she worked hard for them, and was as cheery and as obliging as she could be.  She didn’t want to analyze it, and told herself it was simply the bedside manner taught by her professors in med school. Building rapport and relationships with patients.  Building trust. But Marlowe knew part of it was guilt. Lifelong guilt, like she had to constantly _earn_ every breath she took.  She was an alien in the world and never deserved the respect and love given to others.  Deep down, she felt like she was phoney and would be discovered. But the emotions she had for the Sanctuary community were real.  She cried with them, laughed with them, and mourned with them. She greeted everyone as a cherished friend. Every hug and every kind word were fuel for her.  Laura had been right--she _was_ home, whatever that meant.  No matter what mistakes she made or how mad someone got at her, they stayed by her side.  Always there for her. Laura and Gary risking Negan’s wrath to get her to Alexandria. Sherry and J.D. keeping quiet about the night she slipped out.  Everyone had each other’s backs. Even Eugene, the brother she never had. They had such an unspoken bond. They looked out for one another. _Unconditional._ It was as foreign a word to her family of origin as if it were Mandarin Chinese or Aramaic.

Marlowe thought about everything and felt lost.  By all accounts, this Rick had taken over Alexandria some months ago.  The details were fuzzy, but he had killed the leader, a woman named Monroe.  Her son had told some Saviors. Rick was brutal and ruthless. He had also killed the town doctor to take his wife. He changed everything there, made it more martial law than the dream Monroe had of a democratic, peaceful, thriving community.

Then the widow Maggie had usurped Gregory and taken Hilltop.  Marlowe despised the man, but wondered at the coincidence that Rick’s compatriot had also taken charge of one of the communities.  At least Negan ran his own place, and wasn’t trying to colonize the natives, as it were. Maggie had sent a box to Negan containing a Savior who had turned.  Negan almost died, which was surely her plan.

By that respect, the Kingdom would probably be next, and then they would try and take the Sanctuary.   Rick Grimes’ empire would spread.

At that moment, Marlowe wanted nothing more than to leave the Sanctuary.  She wanted to go out and find Negan, and run with him back to her military base.  Get away from all of this. He would find something on post to suit him, a leadership position.  They would live like he hadn’t in years. Laura too, but Marlowe doubted she would return to the Sanctuary alive.  

Marlowe opened her eyes at the encroaching darkness, hearing the trucks pull into the gate.

***

“Burning.  Dwight and I saw it.  Blood all over the windshield and the car was burning.”  Simon looked at Dwight.

Dwight didn’t meet Marlowe’s gaze, but looked at the floor.  

“ _Wh_ _o?_ ”  Marlowe repeated, her voice breaking.  “I asked you _who_.”

Simon strutted around the conference room.  “It was an SUV. Didn’t exactly get to shake hands and exchange phone numbers, but it sure looked like the prick driving.”

Marlowe sat down hard into a chair.  She felt like all the energy had left her body.  She looked around the room at everyone. She wanted to scream at them to help her, to take the pain away. Arat was looking at her, frowning, brows furrowed.

Simon spoke up.  “Still, Doc. We are _all_ Negan…”

“Stop.  Just stop.  Not now.” Marlowe looked around the room.  “Everyone except Simon out.”

Saviors glanced at the tall, mustachioed man.  

“I _said get out._ ”

Simon nodded to the group.

When the room was empty, Simon sat down at the head of the conference table.  “So this is a private party? Shall I call room service to bring up some rum?”

“Shut up.”  Marlowe looked at the wood grain pattern on the table, finding shapes in it.  There was one that always reminded her of a baseball bat. She ran her fingers over it.  “You make another joke and I will take out this gun and shoot you between your eyes.”

“I know this is hard, Clementine.  I get that. We have to decide what’s best for the people now.  They are a _resource_.”

“Stop using his words.”

Simon chuckled.  “You are acting like I had a hand in this.  I believe we _all_ told Darth Vader it was unwise to go out in his own personal TIE Fighter.  But we got this, Clem. No rebels are going to blow up our Death Star.”

Marlowe stood up and unholstered her gun.  She cocked the trigger. “You have two seconds to start talking, Simon.  You have to convince me you had nothing to do with any of this. While I don’t think you were the rat fink who sold us to Alexandria, I believe you went out with Negan ready to ice him and take over. You _may_ or may _not_ have been lucky enough to have Grimes do your dirty work. What kind of fucking coincidence finds Rick right there, slamming into Negan’s car?”

“Put down the gun, Clementine.  Let’s be reasonable here. I know you care about him.  I know you think he shits sunshine. Remember, this is the same man who makes stupid leadership mistakes.  He threw Carson into the deep fryer, then allowed his brother to escape. One of Negan’s men killed Harlan Carson the other day.   _And_ who do you think made _that_ call?  Someone who wants to guilt you into staying here, perhaps?”

“You’re lying.  The priest said Harlan reached for a gun.”

“But who made the call?  It is the god’s honest truth.  What kind of a _leader_ finds doctors expendable?  Present company excluded. And Negan went out today with guts of the dead coated over Lucille.  We told him it was a bad idea, but he said ‘chemical warfare’ or some shit. ‘Biological warfare,’ whatever.”

Marlowe stared at him.  

“You don’t believe me.  I understand. It sounds like a lot of hokum.  Go, ask Arat or anyone else. The moment we were out of your sight, we had to put roamer guts on our weapons.  I can take you now to the fence and show you the carved up Thanksgiving turkey hanging there.”

“I’m going to go look for him.”

“No.  Final answer.  You’ll agree it’s a poor decision to let our one and only doctor leave this place.”

Marlowe decided to play along.  She put her gun back. “Fine. We need to make a plan.  You saw how the people here lost their damned minds when Grimes cut us off from everything.  We can’t tell them about… about him. We need to keep that on the down low. For now, you’ll need to be in charge.  I know it’s a difficult decision, but…”

“I’m happy to do it.  In the meantime, you look beat.  After all the fighting today, we all need a drink and some sleep.”

“Fighting?”

“Oh, the boys and I went by Hilltop to try and get back the thirty-eight Saviors the widow has made into POWs.”

“What happened?”

“I tried a peaceful resolution.  Negotiation. Treaty. All that. On behalf of our missing leader.  She told me she is going to kill all of them.”

***

The room was completely dark when Marlowe got out of the shower.  Everywhere in the room she looked, she expected to see Negan. She was hoping when she came out the bathroom, he would be sitting on his couch, waiting for her.  

This Houdini act of his was wearing on her. She didn’t care how mad he got, she would scream at him and duct tape him if it would keep him home.  

 _If_ he came back.

Marlowe tried to banish the thought.  She opened the closet, to what was now her side, and looked at the summer dresses she’d been gifted.  She didn’t care if it offended her usual sensibilities, she wanted to look nice, _feminine_ , in a manner she knew Negan was attracted to.  

Her stomach twisted, and she knew if he came back at that moment, she’d throw herself at him.  If he asked, she’d move to the suburbs with him. Be like her sister. Learn to cook and sew. Pop out little dark-haired Neganlings.  Pack his lunches and rub his shoulders. She didn’t care. Marlowe knew too that he would spoil her. He’d surprise her with flowers and jewelry and take her out to art galleries and then to dinner.  They’d fight over the paint colors for the kitchen, but he’d let her win. If she worked late, he’d pick up the kids and take them to a fast food place and then bowling. He’d complain about her throwing her clothes _next_ to the hamper (her “limbo pile” of clothes not worn enough to be laundered, but not quite clean enough for the closet).  She’s get onto him for not rinsing his dishes. When the kids were at a sleepover, he’d pull her away from whatever work she was doing to bend her over the kitchen table and fuck her.  They’d watch porn together over beers and heckle the fake nails and fake moans. Then they would explore each other’s bodies, taking time to tease. She’d go to his school’s sports games and he’d be the eye candy on her arm for new medical wing openings.  They wouldn’t fight over going to the cinema--they both loved going and, before the world ended, had to see every action movie that came out. They go for beers afterward and talk about Bruce Willis’ hairline or the CGI car chases. He’d complain about Tom Cruise and she’d complain they never re-released ‘70s films in theatres like they did old romance or family films.  He’d have flowers sent unexpectedly to her office, and she’s have Buffalo Wild Wings delivered to to his school for his lunch. They wouldn’t fight over the kids’ names, because they both like simple, classic names. They would fight over foreign films, especially French ones, because Negan hated to read subtitles, and found intimate little indie films “pretentious as fuck and boring.”

True, the last few weeks together had helped her cobble together what things would look like on the outside of all of this. They _knew_ one another.  They had _shared_ almost everything.  

She couldn’t believe Simon had killed him.  Didn’t _want_ to believe it.  

Back on base, she had been a closed book to Preston. She always deflected his questions about her life and let him drone on about his.  He let sleeping dogs lie and didn’t push her. He knew utilitarian things about her, like her favorite foods and what songs she sang in the shower.  But she kept up her guard. He was attractive and doting, and had a crush on her. She found him convenient and the antidote for her loneliness. A fantastic, considerate lay.  Nothing more. When he demanded she stay and they move in together, she had volunteered for the recon mission. He’d cried and invoked his wife and children. The guilt trip broken record he liked to play.  Marlowe was now his everything and he couldn’t lose her, too. The more he clung, the more she pulled away.

Marlowe decided on getting one of Negan’s white tee shirts out of his hamper.  It smelled like him. She didn’t put on a bra; they were all too tight. She didn’t know how the laundry was done, but she imagined they had inadvertently shrunk a lot of her clothes lately.  She put some athletics shorts on, which were covered by the tee shirt, which went almost to her knees.

She was hungry, and, even more than that, wanted an update, so she went to the door.

The knob wouldn’t turn.  

Marlowe knocked hard on the door.  “ _J.D?  Hey?_ ”

Nothing.  

Her pulse quickened.  She wanted to think something was wrong with the internal knob mechanism, but she knew she was locked in.  She cursed herself for trusting Simon for one second. He wasn’t stupid, though. She would play along with him and not get thrown into the furnace.  

_Maybe he’s genuinely concerned I’ll leave to try and find Negan?_

Marlowe banged on the door.  She was met with silence.

In the nightstand, she knew, Negan sometimes kept a radio.

Marlowe found it and clicked it on.  Leaving it at the frequency it was set for, she pushed the PTT button.  “This is the doctor. Over.”

Static.

“This is Marlowe.  Do you read? Over.”

Marlowe was about to turn the radio back off when it crackled to life.

_“Who is this?”_

“This is the doc.  I’m up in the eagle’s nest and the door’s jammed.  Need one of you flyboys to bring a screwdriver.”

_“Where’s Negan?”_

Marlowe looked at the radio.  

The voice spoke again.   _“Where’s Negan? I asked you._ ”

It was Rick Grimes.


	23. "You never count your money, when you're sittin' at the table"

Marlowe didn’t know what to say.  

_“I need to know where he is. Who is this?”_

“This is Dr. Clementine Marlowe.”

Silence.

“Hello?  Over.”

_“I… I have a letter for you, from my son. It’s like he knew what was going to happen.”_

“I’m so sorry, Rick.”

_“You’re not sorry.  None of you are. You’re responsible for what happened.”_

“I saw him, that night.  He promised he was going somewhere safe.”

 _“He didn’t make it.  He didn’t make it to us.”_ Rick’s voice broke.   _“He died trying to save someone.”_

“He wanted peace.”

_“He didn’t understand.  Now he doesn’t have a voice in this.”_

“I do have a voice, for good or bad.  I stood with Carl. I stand with all the children and the innocents.  Theirs are voices that can’t be silenced, not by you, or by Negan.”

_“Negan is going to pay.”_

“Rick, I’ve been to war.  I’ve been sent many times.  There are moments to be ruthless and to take vengeance.  Honestly, there are more times to be tender and compassionate.  We all have to have clarity. We’ve got to see clearly what is to be done, and do it.”

_“I don’t want your words of wisdom. The way I see it, you helped cause Carl's death.  You gave him that hope that helping others would be the right way. That can’t be now.  We have to take care of our own, to tell with others.”_

“Is that why you took Alexandria from Deanna Monroe?”

_“Who told you that? Negan?”_

“Watercooler talk.”  Marlowe sat down on the bed.  “Rick, you don’t know me, but I have to ask you a question.  You have to be honest with me.”

_“Why?”_

“You’re Carl’s dad.  I didn’t get to know him but Negan thought highly of him.  He seemed special. Honest. An old soul.”

Silence.

_“All right.”_

“Did you see Negan earlier?  Did you…”

_“I ran the fucker off the road.”_

Marlowe sucked in air.  “Was he…?”

 _“We fought.  He got away. That will be the_ last _time he gets away from me.”_

Marlowe’s tears ran down her cheeks.  “Where is he?”

_“I don’t know.  He took my truck.”_

“Rick, we have to stop all this.  We have to...”

_“No.  It’s gone too far.”_

“Please.  You came here, you cut the people off from resources.  Good people. Children. Elderly. In the heat, without water.  Your people murdered our people in their sleep at the outpost, just after I found this place.  Sasha tried to kill Negan. Maggie has almost forty of ours held captive.”

_“Is that what he’s been telling you?  Did he tell you he took a bat to my friends?  Murdered Maggie’s husband in front of her, to set an example?  Did he tell you how he tormented us? Threatened us? Told me I had to chop off Carl’s hand?”_

Marlowe couldn’t speak.  

 _“Clementine, Carl mentioned you.  He said you didn’t seem to know about Negan’s wives or any of the things he does, like burn people’s faces.  Carl watched. He was_ made _to watch a man have his face burnt.  He had night terrors about it. Wake up screaming.”_

Marlowe sobbed, keeping her finger off the talk button.

 _“Look, maybe some of y’all_ are _innocence.  We’re past that.  Negan made sure of it. Now I’m sorry about the kids and the old people there.  I am. But if we let the Sanctuary stand, and leave one Savior alive, that will be the end of us.”_

“It’s not like that.”

_“It is like that.”_

“Rick, you don’t want to do this.”

_“He had his people come to Hilltop.  Had walker gore on the weapons. Made people sick. Turned in their sleep.  We had to put down a lot of good men and women. We lost a lot tonight.”_

Marlowe put her head in her hands.  “He wasn’t there.”

_“He sent them. Simon was there.”_

“Rick, that wasn’t Negan.  I’m sure of it.”

_“I’m done talking to you.”_

“Wait.  Please. Where is Gracie?”

_“Who?”_

“Carl said you had her.  Please.”

_“She’s somewhere safe. Safe from all of you.”_

“Please.  I’m a doctor.  I’ve been handling her pediatric care.  She knows me. Please let me see her.”

_“No.  She’s not going to be raised around any of you.  Not you, not anyone of you will ever see that child again.  I’m coming for you. For all of you.”_

“ _Rick!  Rick, please!”_   

Silence.

Marlowe crawled over the bed and held onto the radio.  She buried her face into Negan’s pillow, trying to imagine him there with her, his arms around her.  

***

“Good morning, fraulein. _Guten Morgen._ ”

Marlowe opened her eyes, immediately nauseated and nursing a headache.   _Fuck me,_ she thought.  “Bradford.” She smelled meat, making her stomach hurt worse.

“Look what I brought!  Something scrumptious and delightful for the little one.”  Bradford danced over to the bed. “Now show me that wondrous little gigglemug.”

Marlowe sat up and climbed off the bed.

“There is my little ragamuffin.  Fresh from slumber.”

“Don’t come near me.  I’ll cut your dick off.”

“Too late!” Bradford giggled and shrugged.  “A bit of string. A bit of patience.” He pantomimed wiping his crotch.  “All the distasteful bits come right off.”

Marlowe walked past him toward the door.

“Oh, don’t do _that_.  Herr Simon has asked I bring you a morning repast.  I had the pleasure of cooking it myself.”

“I should get dressed first,” Marlowe mock-smiled.  “Which means you should get out.”

“Ah, there _is_ some culture in this rube!  You want to dress for breakfast. I’m delighted!”  He clapped his hands. “Just between us girls,” Bradford leaned closer to Marlowe and pointed toward the door.  “There are not one, not two, but _three_ young, strapping men outside that door.  You’re not going _anywhere._  You shall be my guest.  I hope you find the accomodations to your liking, fraulein.”

“I’ll be sure to give you five stars on Yelp.  Please get the fuck out.”

Bradford clasped his hands and tilted his head.  “And  _there_ it is. That foul mouth of hers.  So _unbecoming_ of a lady.  The pussy must be _exceptional_ for my boss to tolerate such a disgusting piece of vermin such as the meat bag standing before me.  You reek of trash and poverty.” He walked closer to Marlowe. “I think he likes you because you’re still _alive._ ”

Marlowe wanted him closer, so she could knock his teeth down his throat.

Bradford sniffed at her, eyes widening.  “Oh dear. Oh deary me. Tsk, tsk.” He tutted through clenched teeth.  “Now _this_ is a turn I did not forsee.”

“Can I help you?” Marlowe raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Hmm.  You smell... _different._  There is a new scent to you. In the garden of rot and filth, there grows a _teeny tiny_ little flower.  A sapling.” Bradford peered at her.  “Ah, yes. I see it now. I see the paleness of your skin.  The blossoming of the capillaries and veins. The new rouge of your cheeks.”

“Get out and I’ll change.”

“Got to the ladies’ room.”

Marlowe grabbed a dress out of the closet and headed to the bathroom.

While Marlowe was changing, she smelled meat.  She leaned over the toilet in her underwear and retched.  

Outside the bathroom, three Saviors were standing near a cart with an aluminum tray seated on a rack over two open Sterno cans.  

“Ah, there she is!  And such a vision.” Bradford stepped away from Negan’s bookcase, startling Marlowe.

“I smell meat.”

“Indeed.  Allow me to be your morning _maître d'hôtel._ I have prepared a little _amuse-bouche_ for you, my dear.  A few bites of this will certainly bring tears to your eyes, and whet your appetite.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Marlowe deadpanned.

“And here it is,” Bradford said, walking over to the food.  “Around the world, a succulent dish prepared in a variety of ways.  Capretto, cabrito, chevon, katsikia. The Korea make a soup, _heugyeomso-tang_.  It is supposed to increase lust, not that you would need it.”  

“Get to your point, Jeeves.”

“Yes, yes.  I’m sure you’re famished.  Here it is, the _pièce de résistance_ !”  Bradford theatrically whisked the cover off the pan.  “ _Voilà!_ ”

“It’s a fucking pan of dead animal. Great.  You’re fucked up.”

“But what _kind_?”  Bradford grinned broadly at her, still holding the cover above himself.

“Soylent green?   _People_? I would not put that past you.”

“You say ‘tomato,’ I say ‘to- _mah_ -to.’  You say ‘cabrito,’ I say ‘capretto.’”

“Shut the fuck up.”  Marlowe turned away, gagging slightly.

“I marinated this dish for a day, then wet-roasted it.  My work is caramelized and crisp in just the right places, tender in others.  Just like madame.”

Marlowe spun around.  “Fine, you sick fuck. I’ll bite.”

“Easter  _kid._  Free range and local. Oh, how she fought as I strung her up and slit her throat.  Wailing and _bleating_.”

“Oh _god.”_  Marlowe dropped to her knees and retched.  “Oh _no._  Please _no._  Bradford, please no.  Please don’t.”

Bradford leaned down in front of her.  “Oh, now she begs. It’s done, my child.  Oh, dear.” Bradford stood up. “Would one of you strapping young things fetch a handkerchief or a cloth?  She is soiling the carpet with spittle.”

Marlowe looked up at Bradford.  “Why?”

“The lady needs proper protein and nutrients.  What better choice that the sacrifice of a dear, sweet, tender friend?”  

Marlowe heard the door open and Simon’s voice.

“What the fuck is going on in here?”

“ _Simon_ ,” Marlowe cried out.  “Please. He… he took my Luna.”

“Oh, Doc,” Simon said, squatting down in front of her.  “We are _low_ on resources since that our friends at Hilltop cut us off.  We _do_ have people to feed.”

Marlowe made herself stand up.  “You lousy piece of shit.”

“And I thought you’d see things my way.  Hmm. Guess not. Your devotion to that loose cannon, Babe Ruthless, is clouding your mind.  I’m the guy who makes the hard decisions. The ugly ones. You can’t make an omelet without breaking an egg, as you have, I’m sure, heard.  That’s why a while back, I had to make the call to _take_ some helpful resources.”

“What are you talking about, you feckless ape?”

“Oh, we were doing a run for supplies, and,” Simon looked up at the ceiling and held out his hands.  “Manna from heaven. A Humvee came rolling our way.”

Marlowe slapped Simon.  “You son of a bitch. _You_ ambushed us.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t make it sound so… _unfavorable_.  It was an act of charity.”

“For whom?”

“For our people. _Your_ people, now.”

“Apone?”

Simon grinned.  “Do you think the man you spread your legs for every night didn’t know?  Didn’t order we hold your sergeant? Apone found _us_.  Came willingly.  Said he was tracking one of his people.  We took him, fed him, played _Misty_ for him on the jukebox…  But he was going to lead you out of here. Bring you back to the base. Negan went wild.  Grilled him. Took everything from him. Bribed him.  In the end, the man, like old furniture, just had to go.”

Marlowe’s chest heaved and her mouth dropped.  “Who did it? Who bashed in the back of his skull?”

“Oh, don’t play stupid, you of all the college degrees.  Do I even _have_ to dignify that with an answer?”

Marlowe stood there, feeling like the ground had given under her feet.  

“All right, boys. I think we’ve just about broken her enough. Let’s get her to the cell.  I think a few days down there will give the good doctor a fresh perspective on things.”

Bradford whispered in Simon’s ear.

Simon’s eyes widened.  “Oh, well. That bit of communiqué changes things.  We can’t put her in an unsanitary cell. That’s no way to treat our fair doctor. Especially at such a delicate time.” He kept his eyes on Marlowe. “Well, gentlemen.  I guess since she’s been used to such fine quarters, we’ll leave her here, for now.” He leaned forward and grinned, deepening the wrinkles around his cheeks.  “Don’t get too cozy, Doc. This huge, deluxe suite? This is mine now. I’m moving up, to the east side.”

Marlowe spat in Simon’s face.  “Negan _is_ coming back.  He’s _alive_.  I have confirmation.  You’d better hope he gets to you first.  Every one of you in this fucking room is going to die before I leave this place.  Count on it.”


	24. The End of the Tether

Marlowe stared at the empty spaces on Negan’s bedroom walls where the animal heads used to be. Hours after he had caught Marlowe frowning at them a few weeks ago, he’d decided they, along with his cowskin chair, “didn’t go with the feng shui” and had them moved to the rec room.  

The clichéd prisoner meal of bread and water sat on the coffee table.  After looking through the bookcases, meditating, and trying to do some yoga, Marlowe sprawled out on the concrete floor. The windows were open, and she breathed in the summer air.  Night was falling, along with the loud sounds of frogs and crickets.

Her eyes were swollen from crying.  She was stuck here, she knew. Alone.  Eugene had been moved to an outpost, and Marlowe had lost everything.  The battery was dead in the radio, and she couldn’t even call Rick, which she would have in a heartbeat, just to talk to someone.  If he was being truthful, and Negan _had_ stolen his truck, he’d be home already. _Unless Simon_ had _gotten to him._

Marlowe decided she was going to have to, for the greater good, just do her job.  “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” she said aloud to the ceiling. Simon was a mean son of a bitch, but he was clever.  He would not sacrifice his doctor to the god of hubris. She would simply have to hold her nose and work for the snake.

The people in the Sanctuary needed her.

 _Unless she could get to Alexandria._ Gabriel had said there was hope for her. She was torn, try and strike out with Grimes, or the-devil-you-know at the Sanctuary?  

Footsteps and voices were suddenly outside the door.  Marlowe lay where she was, no longer caring. Nothing she did could bring Negan, or Laura, to her.

The door opened and light from the hallway illuminated her.

“Doc? Doctor Marlowe,” J.D. said. “Hey, some men are here.”

“Have them sign in and show the front desk their insurance cards.  Copay is to shove dynamite up their asses and light it.”

“Um, I don’t know what to…”

Marlowe lay still where she was.  “Piss off. Whatever you’re selling, I ain’t buying.”

“It’s Murphy,” another voice said.  “I uh… I’m here to move you.”

Marlowe rolled over and sat up.  “So I’m being downgraded to coach?  I like it here though. Already broken in the mattress.”  

Two men stepped toward her.  Murphy said to J.D. “Look, our boss said to cuff her and take her somewhere else.”

J.D. said, “Simon didn’t say anything before.”

Murphy spoke again.  “I guess he’s tired or something.  Decided he wants to use this room.”

“Okay.  I’m on the last chapter of _Eat, Pray, Love_ anyway.”  

Marlowe heard J.D. walk back to the hallway. She stood up.  “You guys can all go suck Simon’s nuts.”

Murphy stepped forward.  “We have to move you.”

“Fine.  I don’t need anything, do I?  Paddle game? This chair? The remote control?  My dog? Oh, shit. I don’t have a dog.” Marlowe walked over to the closet. “Seriously, should I bring anything other than a toothbrush and an overnight bag?”

“Just hurry, for fuck’s sake,” Murphy said, looking around nervously.  “We’ve got take you to someone. We have a mutual friend by the way. Someone you haven’t seen in a while.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she used to be known by ‘Caroline.’  Caroline Mitchell. Long time ago. Boss wanted me to mention her.”

 _Negan._ He remembered.  

Marlowe grabbed her shoes.  “Why didn’t you say so? Shit, boys.  Let’s bounce.”

***

Bella’s mother opened the door to their family’s room.  “Oh, doctor. Glad to see you.”

Marlowe hugged the woman, trying to remember her name.  “I think I’m couchsurfing with you guys tonight.”

“Stay as long as you like,” she said, smiling.  “You have no idea what Negan has done for us. Robert, Bella, and I would be dead if he hadn’t… Well, you can imagine.”

 _Allison_ , Marlowe remembered.  “It’s great to hear something good right now, Allison. Thank you.”  

“Going to go let Bella know you’re here.”  Allison walked through a door in the makeshift apartment.

Murphy handed Marlowe a Tango-51 rifle.  “Probably shouldn’t give you this, but… what the hell?”

“What’s this for? Protection?”

“Giving you my spare.  I’m getting up at the crack of dawn myself to do some target practice.”

“Oh?"  

“You know that corner of the roof over the courtyard where Gary has his picnic table? Using that as an FFP.”

 _Final firing position,_ Marlowe thought.   _Someone is getting sniped in the morning._

“Sounds great. You better get to bed if you have to be there at what?  Seven A.M.?”

“ _Oh-six-hundred._ ”  Murphy shrugged.  “Not thrilled, but that’s the plan.  There’ll be a lot of birds gathered in the courtyard after rounds.”  

“So I just hang here tonight, what’s left of it, anyway?”

“Yeah.”

“Is the big nest empty?”

“No. It’s occupied tonight, but the eagle prefers it looks like you took off again.”  Murphy lowered his voice. “We’ve made it look like you grabbed your shit and stole a car from the motor pool. Took off.  Simon will buy it. It’s safer that way.”

“What about the eagle himself?  What assurance do I have _he’s_ safe?”

“Trust me. There are enough of us who, while we don’t necessarily agree with the way Boss runs things, are aware the alternative. Having Simon in charge would be like dancing with our dicks out in a pit of angry cobras.”

***

Marlowe could barely sleep. Between excitement, fear, and nausea, she was up before dawn, up before the family. She brushed her teeth, gagging into the sink, and headed out, rifle in tow.

It was still dark when she crept up to the roof beside the courtyard, a light blanket draped over her.  She dragged some crates over to the picnic table for cover, in case anyone came up unexpectedly.  Her short stature made it easy to curl up between the table and an exhaust fan in its concrete setting.

Still sleepy, Marlowe wrapped the blanket over herself and closed her eyes. She mentally counted the bones in the body. _Calcaneus...capitate… carpal… cervical… coccyx… cuboid…_

_Her sister was there, sunning herself on a lawn chair, her brown legs shiny with oil._

_“‘Clementine’… that’s_ awfully _close to ‘Caroline.’  Maybe you should make your new name something different?  I’m going with ‘Nicole.’ It’s as far from mine as can be.  Can you make it look like I got a high school certificate? I want to go to college someday.  I can’t always pay the light bill singing in bars and at hog eatin’ festivals.”_

_“Sure, Nicole.  I do like that. It’s a pretty name.  Didn’t you have a doll you called that?”_

_“Yeah.  At least I picked a normal name, Sweet Caroline.”_

_“Don’t call me that.”_

_“Sorry.  Why didn’t you go with a T.V. show name? Sami?  Chloe? Billie?”_

_“I’m set.  Picking up all the papers tomorrow from that woman I told you about. From the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. She's good people.  Knows what's at stake.”_

_“My bags are packed.  Do you know what state we’re going to?”_

_“Yeah.  We’re going to spend some time out west in another rural part of the country for a while.  Build up some work history and stuff.”_

_“I’m scared, big sis.”_

_“I know.  Look, after this, none of them can lay claim to either of us anymore.  Mama won’t be able to find us. No one will. We can do whatever we want. Tomorrow, you and are dead. 'Our' remains will be identified and logged by the highway patrol's medical examiner. No one will hurt you again.  Nothing will happen to you anymore, I promise. As long as I’m breathing, I’ll keep you safe.”_

Marlowe woke up knowing someone was on the roof and the sun was coming up.  She didn’t dare move and betray her position. She was past trusting anyone, except Laura.  Negan wouldn’t hurt her, she knew that, but he was always up to something.

She heard whispering and footsteps.  

“So we wait?”  It was Murphy who spoke.

“We wait for the Big Bird,” said the other voice, who sounded like Norris.

Marlowe held her position.

She heard talking below in the courtyard but couldn’t make out what was being said.  Sounded like Simon. Marlowe wanted to spring from the ground, but held back. She wanted to trust Murphy.

From below, something sounded like whistling.  

_Gunshots._

Marlowe slid out from behind the crates and saw Murphy and Norris leaning over the edge of the roof.  Murphy spotted her.

“ _Doc, get back,_ ” he whispered, stretching his arm out near her chest.  

She set up the rifle next to him and surveyed the courtyard.  She saw Gregory, Dwight, Simon… Negan stood behind them.  

It looked like some men were down.

“ _Thank you,_ ” she whispered.

Murphy smiled at her.  “Told you we got the boss’s back.  All of us. Arat… D.J… We know what side our bread is buttered on.”

Marlowe set her rifle up on the tripod and set up the scope.

“What are you doing, Doc?” Murphy’s eyes were wide.

“Little extra insurance.  Doesn’t hurt to have a second opinion.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Marlowe jumped when Simon lunged, but two Saviors grabbed him. He was going for Dwight. She still wasn’t satisfied, as she still figured Dwight for the snitch, and wouldn’t put it past him this was some sort of double cross against Negan.

Negan walked closer to Simon, and Marlowe kept the scope trained on the mustachioed, tall man.

“They’re going to the factory floor,” Marlowe said as she grabbed the rifle and headed to the roof door.

***

Inside, Marlowe fought her dizziness as she quickly climbed the vertical metal stairs to the uppermost catwalk on the factory floor.  No one ever went up there, and she doubted anyone would spy her there, especially with the grey blanket over her.

She lay on her belly and positioned the rifle as best she could through the bars.  The aluminum panel under her had rocked when she stepped onto it.

As she figured, the Saviors, lead by Negan, escorted Simon onto the floor.  She saw Murphy and Norris in a small crowd gathering on the lower stairwell in front and to the right of her.

Simon was addressing the crowd as he took off his jacket.  Whatever he was saying, it was bullshit. Marlowe kept her crosshairs on him, waiting.  She took her eyes off the scope and scanned around Negan, hoping no one else was going to do something stupid.

Suddenly, Simon went at Negan, punching him. Marlowe decided to let him get a lick or two in before she made a move. _Get one in for me, big man,_ she thought, remembering the times Negan went AWOL and made her sweat bullets.  

Negan got the upper hand and threw Simon back a few feet.  

Simon lunged again, grabbing Negan’s jacket with one hand to pull him near.  With the other hand, he reached into the back of his waistband.

_He had his hunting knife._

Marlowe took the shot.

Simon’s head exploded.  The blast echoed through the open space of the factory.

Negan stood still as gore and bone fragments hit his face and body.  

Simon’s legs gave out, arms hanging by his sides. His body slumped forward.

Some of the Saviors stepped back.

The room was silent.  Marlowe kept her rifle ready in case someone wanted to avenge Simon.

Negan looked up and around.  He wiped his face with his gloved hand.  Examining his palm,he frowned, hard. Even from Marlowe’s height, she knew by how he stood, how he was clenching his fist, that he was furious.

“ _Who fucking did this,_ ”  he bellowed.  “ _What dickless piece of shit decided to take the pleasure of finally beating that spineless motherfucker's ass away from me?”_

The men looked at each other.

Marlowe stood up.  She called down. “It _was me.”_

Negan looked up, his brows furrowed and his lips pursed.  He raised a gloved finger in her direction. “Get her down here. _Now!_ ”


	25. "The world was on fire and no one could save me but you"

“Just _what the fuck_ were you thinking?”  Negan was pacing. His voice was even, but his nostrils flared and his lips were pursed, deepening the lines around his mouth.  He had a new cut and bruise over his left eyebrow.

Marlowe sat where she was.  She had been dry heaving before he came into the bedroom, so much so green bile had started to come up.  Her mouth was salty, and she knew she was dehydrated.

“You took this one fucking thing away from me.”

“He had a knife.”

“It wasn’t _your_ decision to make.  Do you know how you’ve made me look?”  His voice boomed, “ _Do you?_ ”

Marlowe put her hands in her lap and let tears fall into them.  

Negan stopped pacing near the couch and bent down.  He lowered his voice. “You have made me look like a goddamned castrated piece of shit.  Let around by my dick. Do you know how it feels to give an order and watch those fucking mealy-mouthed pricks glance at _you_ for fucking _permission_ ?  Do you _think_ you’re _any goddamned different_ to me than that backstabbing piece of shit Simon?”  Negan stepped back. “ _Talk to me!_ ”

Marlowe felt bile coming up.  Her head throbbed and her stomach burned.  She could smell everything in the room, from the homemade laundry soap on the bed, to Negan’s sweat.

“Sure, next time I’ll _let you_ get cut open like a pig in an abattoir.”

“Fine.  Even though you made a laughing stock outta me…”  He raised his voice. “Since I am _so fucking generous_ … I brought you something.”  Negan gestured his bat to Murphy, who stood at the door.  

Marlowe kept her head down, but she heard the voice.

“ _Mar?_ ”

“Laura!”  Marlowe stood up and ran to her friend.

The two embraced and both cried.  

“Oh my god, oh my god!”  Still holding onto Laura’s arms, Marlowe looked over at Negan.  “Thank you. _Oh._ ”

Negan walked out the bedroom.

“Marlowe, you look like shit.”

“You too.”

“No, really.  Let’s sit down.  Got dark bags under your eyes.  Your lips are white. You still puking all the time?”

“Yeah.  I think it’s stress and still recovering from blood transfusion.  Or a stomach bug… I don’t know.”

“Negan’s pissed.” Laura sat close to Marlowe on the couch and held her hands.  “He found me. I told him about Dwight.”

“Dwight?”

“Yeah, babe.  You called it.  He’s the mole. Sold us up the river to Alexandria.Fucking shitweasel."

“ _Fuck._ ”

“Yeah.  So I heard what you did to Simon.”

“I…. Negan keeps doing his Houdini thing, like a fucking bad romance novel.  Disappearing and I think he’s dead. He came back and I had his six. I didn’t have his back so many times.  Simon had a knife. It wasn’t a fair fight. I just…”

“Look, girl, don’t explain.  You did the right thing. Fuck all if that lanky snake was in charge right now.  We _all_ know that.  We’d all be fucking dead if we followed him.  Dude’s like stealing your neighbor’s electricity.  It’s all good until you get an overload and burn your fucking house down.”  Laura reached over and tucked a lock of Marlowe’s hair behind her ear. “You did good.  We _all_ know it.  Negan’s an ass.  He’s a man. He’ll get over it.”

Marlowe put her head on Laura’s shoulder.  “I fucking miss Starbucks. We’d go and hang out.”

“Yeah.  Anything.  We should go hang in the commissary some night again, just us, and make cocoa.”

“We may not have many more chances.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so either.”

Marlowe leaned back and adjusted her shirt.  “I need to go get new bras. Mine are shrinking.”

Laura sat up straight and stared at her. "Yeah. I noticed. You must be eating well here, ‘cause you’re filling out.  Even though you’re so sick. You need to check yourself out. At least drink water as much as you can.  I’ll have the boys bring you some food.”

Negan came in.  “Time’s up, Laura.”

Laura put her arms around Marlowe.  “Catch ya on the flipside. Think about what I said.  Go to the infirmary and take a test or something.”

Negan’s eyes widened and he watched Laura walk out.  He didn’t look at Marlowe. “What is she talking about?”

“I’ve had a stomach bug for days. Or infected by you.  That blood transfusion.”

He was silent.  “Really? You look… your tits are bigger.”

“No, my shirts got shrunk in the laundry.  I’m surprised you noticed, anyway.”

Negan plopped down in the chair across from her.  “I’m royally pissed at you. I saw you up there and was ready to throw you in the cell for a few days.  I don’t want to talk to you or look at you right now.” He leaned forward. “Look at me, Clementine.”

Marlowe raised her eyes to meet his gaze.

Negan sighed loudly.  “I _still_ care.  I just don’t like you right now.  And…” he lowered his voice. “I want to know you’re okay.”

“I know about you spreading the dead bacteria everywhere.  I’m worried that will infect all of us. I haven’t been well since I saw that priest.”

Negan looked at her, furrowing his brows.  “I… I don’t think it’s the ghoul guts that’s making you sick.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I forgot  _you are_  the one with the medical degree.”

“Ah, _there’s_ the Clementine I know.  Always deflecting with sarcasm and jokes.”

“I’m _done_.  You left.  Laura left.  Eugene is gone.  Those fucking assholes… they took my goats.”  Marlowe started sobbing.

Negan laughed.

“What the _fuck_ is _wrong_ with you? How is this funny?”  Marlowe stood up. “You don’t listen.  You take off. Everyone thinks you’re dead.  You come back, waltzing in like nothing happened.  Nothing changes. No apologies. You risk the Sanctuary and your people in your dick-swinging contest with that Georgia cop.  You let Simon take over. They murdered Luna.” Marlowe started sobbing.

Negan put Lucille on the chair next to him.  He stood up and put his arms around Marlowe. “Hey, hey.  Baby. _Oh_ baby _girl._ You are a jumbo, extra crispy bucket of _hormones_ right now.”  

Marlowe stepped back and slapped Negan as hard as she could.

He put a gloved hand to his face and smiled.

“Why are you smiling?  What the _fuck_ ?  Do you think this is funny?  Do you _enjoy_ hurting me?  I was worried.  And you… you smell.  You need a shower.”

“Since when has _that_ bothered you?”

“Since… _now_.  I’m mad. I’m allowed to be angry.  You went behind my back. You keep putting all of us at risk.  I’m just… so… _mad._ ”

Negan smiled at her.  “You are _so_ fucking cute right now.   _Positively… glowing_.  You using a new soap or something?”

“I’m glad you find this all amusing, you cuntwaffle.”

“There she is, my little foul-mouthed vixen.”

“Go fuck yourself up the ass with that bat.”  Marlowe walked over to the bookcase and picked up and ugly porcelain knickknack, a bookend.  It was shaped like baseball glove. “Do you _like_ this?  Are you _attached_ to it?”

“No.  That was here when I…”

Marlowe hurled the trinket past Negan.  It hit the walk behind him, just under where the antelope head used to be.  It exploded.

“Ooh, _she is pissed._  Get it out, baby girl. Hell, I may be safer out there with Rick and the piss patrol.”

“Fuck you.  Fuck this place.   Fuck you because you told Simon to kill my friend.  Fuck _all_ of you.”

“What?”

“Simon told me.  You ordered them to torture my sergeant to get information. Alex Apone.  A Marine. You thought you could break him. You couldn’t, and you killed him.”

Negan frowned.  “Clementine, it wasn’t like that.  We didn’t know him, or you at the time.  We didn’t know his plan or…”

“Shut the fuck up.  Simon said you killed him to keep me here.”

Negan sighed.  “The thought occurred to me to do that.  You have to believe me, I did _not_ tell them to kill him.  They said it happened.”

Marlowe sat back down and cried.  “I’m so tired.”

“I know.  I know you are.  I’m a dick. An asshole.  So much of this is on me.”

“I want to go home.”

“Where is that?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t think I _ever_ have.”

“I do."  Negan stepped closer to her. "It’s here, with us.”

***

Marlowe had toast, scrambled eggs, and jam brought to her after the phenergan Laura insisted she take. It was dark, and the pills were making her sleepy, despite herself.   She was afraid to sleep, dreading the nightmares that came so vividly lately. She was aware of every sound, every footstep in the hallway, and every creak. She would begin to drift off, then snap awake thinking someone was in the room with her.  She felt afraid, and was convinced that if she slept, something would happen to Laura, to Bella and her family, or to Negan. It would be her fault for letting down her guard.

When she slept, she dreamed.  She dreamed of death in the most violent, horrific ways.  She dreames of bullet ripping through flesh and improvised bombs scattering bone and brain matter.  She dreamed of children with flies and maggots growing on them.

Negan had three men posted outside the door.  They were under strict orders not to let anyone inside the bedroom, except for Laura.  He seemed satisfied that Laura was loyal and trustworthy. All the medical work was being handled by former dental hygienists, CNAs, and others Marlowe and Harlan had cleared for duty so there was no need for her to go anywhere.  

Marlowe wanted to be in the conference room, making plans with the Saviors.  She didn’t think Negan would listen to her anyway. The time for talking was over with Rick and his people.  They were coming. Nothing would stop that. Simon had made a pig’s breakfast of whatever détente they had left with the communities.  

All she could do was wait.  

Sleep finally overtook her, the phenergan giving her a dreamless sleep.  

Sometime in the night, Marlowe became aware of Negan slipping into bed with her, curling up to her back.  He was shirtless and in his loose shorts he often slept in. She felt him move her hair away from her neck and kiss her softly.  She smiled, feeling her body finally relax

Negan whispered “ _I’m not leaving you, Clementine.  Never._ ”  He put his arm around her waist and rested his hand below her navel.  “ _Everything I do from now on is to protect you._ ”

***

They ate breakfast quietly.  

“Are the pancakes okay?  You need more water? Berries?”

“That’s the fourth time you’ve asked me, Negan.”

“Just making sure you’re okay.”  Negan rested his elbows on the table as he bit into some bacon.  He talked around his food. “You sure this deceased pig ain’t grossing you out?”

Marlowe stared at him, looking at his tanned arms and neck.  His white tee was immaculate. She took one of his hands in hers.  “I’m good. Thanks.”

“Lot calmer today.  Shit, yesterday I was ready to put you on the front line and lay back on a lawn chair with some PBR and a stogie and watch you mow down all the insurgents.”

“Yeah,” she moved her food around the plate.  “I needed sleep. I don’t even know where you were, this last time. I had been… um, freaking out.”

“Well, I reckon I can’t blame you.  I’d rather put my dick in a blender than to be stuck here under Simon.  That man had a right sadistic streak. Like a pit bull that goes crazy and eats his owner.”

“Hmm.”

Negan stroked her forearm.  “I’m sorry I was gone. Got taken in by someone friendly.  Got back as soon as I could. I want you to know Bradford is in a cell.  You give the word, whatever you want done with him.”

“I just want to call time of death for him.”

“Consider it already done.”

“You’re going again, aren’t you?”

“Where?”

“You know where.”

“Michonne radioed me yesterday.  The one with the samurai sword? She was trying to get me to surrender. Saying it’s what _Carl_ would have wanted.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“Yeah, but I can’t lead people based on the idealistic whims of a _boy_.  Kid had a good heart, but you can’t keep people safe by being soft.”

“True.  Some of us have to be the bad guys, make the hard decisions.”

“You know my predicament, then.  I don’t want this anymore than you do, or Carl did.  This is _not_ how it needed to go down.”

“What about Gracie?  About the other children?  What about Rick’s other child?  The girl?”

Negan pushed his plate to the side and held Marlowe’s hands, thumbing her palms.  “Baby, I know. I would do anything I could to stop that. Believe me, I’ve _tried_ to change things, keep those kids safe.”

“Rick said Gracie had to stay there, that none of us here could see her or raise her.  Like we aren’t fit. He blamed me for Carl’s death.”

Negan sat back and crossed his arms.  He looked out the window. “That _motherfucker_.  He has _only_ himself to blame. What the fuck did _you_ do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Nothing.  You _did nothing._ Did you tell that cocksucking dingleberry that his boy’s life is on _his_ hands?  Fuck me.  I’m sorry, Clem.”

“There’s no way to get Gracie?”

“I’ve tried.  I’ve had Saviors asking around and doing their best to keep that line of dialogue open.  No one is saying shit.”

“Maybe she’s…”

“Don’t think it.  None of these shit stains would kill a baby.  She’s just holed up somewhere with some childless couple, probably having the time of her life, eating puréed green beans and playing with dolls.  I’d ask why you’re so concerned, but I know the answer.  I’m wondering if you do.”

“What’s the answer then?”

“It’s who you are.  It’s your heart. You protect those you love, and those you believe are vulnerable.  You have a sense of honor, loyalty. Duty. You’d cut off an arm before you’d let your own be hurt.  I respect that. You _save_ people, help them be strong.  We’re not too different.”

“No.”

“You’ve got a mothering streak, Clem.”

“Maybe.  Some women just aren’t born nurturers. But I think I was, even though I never wanted kids.”

“But you’d be a wonderful mother.  I’ve always known that.”

“Would I?  Over the years I’ve times I haven’t felt like I could take care of myself.”

“That’s all of us.  I promise you, you’d put that child above all else, and protect him or her to your death.  You’d be loving and affectionate. I don’t think you’d raise a hand to a child, not ever. You’d do that hippie parenting shit.  Consequences. Time-outs. And that kid would turn out happy. Confident. Unafraid.”

Marlowe had nothing to say.  She ate more of her pancake.

“You would be amazing.  Of that, I have no doubts.”

“I don’t plan on finding out. This world’s too awful.”

“Yeah, sure seems that way right now.  But you wouldn’t be alone. You’d have all these Savior aunties and uncles.  Laura, oh that gal. Laura would _spoil_ any kid you had.  The folks around here would be baking cookies and bringing homemade.... I don’t fucking know… blankets and toys and clothes.  You’d want for nothing. You’d just have to whip out a tit to feed the little guy every few hours.”

“Wow. You’ve really been thinking about this.”

“It occurs to me here and there.  All that’s happened, you showing up and all this piss patrol bull shit. It makes a man think.  You can’t be alone. I don’t believe there is a big man in the sky, but my grandfather did. My mama’s daddy.  Old Edward Carandini. Pop used to talk about the _Bible_ , and his priest’s sermons, the old parish monsignor.  Monsignor used to talk about how it isn’t good for a man to be alone. He needs a partner, a helper. A man needs someone to protect and love.  That’s why Adam got Eve. That’s why Pop married my nonna. Nonna Virginia. She was  _something._ Both my grandparents were. Married forever, until Nonna died.  Cancer. Pop went right after. He never got over losing his wife.  He was a shell of a man after that. I always hated that my mother never found a man like Pop. You’d think she would have.  No, she went after some bad boy she met in high school. He was a lot older. Piece of shit. Drank and beat us. My grandparents used to come get me, take me for months at a time.  I always felt like I had too much of my father in me to be worthy of the life they had. I look just like my mother and her family, but I always thought I didn’t belong there. That dark side my father had was in me, infecting me.  I used to think I didn’t want what Pop had: stable nine to five job, beautiful wife, two kids, always money in the bank for food and house repairs. Always laughter. Always smiles. Lots of cannoli.” Negan smiled for the first time that morning.  He put his elbows on the table and clasped his hands, looking away wistfully. Marlowe thought he suddenly looked boyish. “Ah, the good life. I thought it wasn’t for me, but I was lying to myself. What I really thought, was that I wasn’t _good_ enough for that life.  That I’d blow it up. Felt like fancy cars and vacations in Cancun are for _other_ people.”

“Like a caste system.  You can’t rise above your station in life.”

“Yeah. See?  You get it. Did you ever think, in that shit hole you grew up in, that you’d ever be anything more than a waitress or a gas station cashier?”

“No.”

“Look at you.  College degrees.  Chest candy--all the medals you told me about.  All the valor. Leading men into dangerous missions.  Coming in here, when all these other chicken shit bitches around are cowering around me or trying to take me out.  You came in and busted my balls until I was _feeling_ again.  I don’t know how I keep from hating someone who, seems like, has taken so much from me.”

“Why _don’t_ you hate me then?”

Negan laughed.  “Ah, my my.” He looked into her eyes.  “You haven’t figured that out yet? Well you are _the last_ fucking person to know then.”  He got up and leaned over her, taking her face into his hands.  “To be so smart, you are so oblivious sometimes, Doc.” He kissed her.   “All right, I gotta head down and visit Dwighty-boy. Time to make the doughnuts.”


	26. "And now my bitter hands cradle broken glass of what was everything"

“I’m surprised you’re letting me go with you,” Marlowe said as she got into the backseat of the SUV next to Eugene.

“Just make sure you wear your seatbelt,” Negan said.

One of the Saviors guided Gabriel into the car next to Marlowe.  Laura was driving.

“You still taking my confession, Padre?  Bless me Father, for I have sinned...probably.  Those men I send down there on that road, setting up the roadblock with the dead, not knowing they’re joining their cold asses any second. Rick and his band of pricks, we’re going to hit them hard. I don’t enjoy sacrificing my own,” Negan said from the front seat.    

“They were with Simon,” Marlowe said.  "They earned this."

“I still don’t understand,” Gabriel said as he twisted his wrists nervously in his handcuffs.

“Ricky was slipped some intel,” Negan said.  “To make him think he got the jump on me. The thing is, it came from a less-than-reliable source. If I were him, I’d be scouting ahead.  Taking out that little road crew.”

“It adds credibility to the intel,” Marlowe said.

Negan held up a gloved finger. “And that mind is why the doctor is my proxy decision-maker.  My consulting strategist.”  He turned around to look at Marlowe. “You doing okay back there? You aren’t going to decorate the polyester upholstery in this car with those pancakes, are you?”

“No, brought a pill for the road.  Doing much better, thanks to Laura.”

“You’re welcome, girl,” Laura said.

“So I will be going to a _different_ location,” Negan continued.  “They will have killed all those sorry bastards.”

Gabriel looked over at Marlowe and Eugene.  “So that’s it? Your confession is that you’re going to kill every last one of them. When you spoke before, it seemed as if you didn’t want it to happen.”

Marlowe saw Negan’s eyes in the rear-view mirror.  

“It ain’t about _want_ , Gabey. It never was.”  Negan sounded heartbroken to Marlowe.  She wanted to touch his arm or give him so other reassurance, but now wasn’t the time.

Laura swerved to miss a ghoul.  

To Marlowe’s right, Gabriel opened the door and jumped out of the vehicle.  Reflexively, she reached for him but the movement of the SUV made her stomach turn.

“ _Stop!_ ”  Negan yelled as Laura hit the brakes.  He turned to Marlowe. “ _St_ _ay in the damned car!_ Laura, keep her in here.”

For a change, Marlowe decided to listen to the man.  

A few minutes later, Negan returned to the front seat.  The back passengers doors opened, and Eugene and Gabriel returned to their seats on either side of Marlowe. 

Laura continued to follow the convoy.  “We’re almost to the rendezvous.”

“I know,” Negan said.  He sucked in air through clenched teeth. He sounded worried.  

The convoy stopped.

“Is there a change of plan, sir?” Eugene asked.

“No,” Negan said.  “Not at all. This was always part of the plan.”

“What’s happening?” Marlowe asked.

Negan wiped his face with his palm but didn’t turn.  “Making a little side trip, Clem. You see, when I was out with the Scavengers...well, what is left of them. Jadis, she’s the leader, she had me on a makeshift _gurney_ of sorts.  While I lay there, all I could think about was you. Just you.  Getting back to the Sanctuary. Telling you everything on my mind.  And while I was lying there, of all fucking things, a helicopter flew by.  It’s like the universe was either fucking with… or giving me a sign. That fucking plane hovered over us, then flew off in the direction of the Sanctuary.  Got me thinking, maybe your people _are_ looking for you.”  Negan leaned back in his seat.  “Dr. Porter, bullet maker extraordinaire, was happy to show me some maps detailing where each military base is within a hundred-mile radius. There’s one that fits the bill about one hour from the Sanctuary. It’s just over half an hour from Alexandria.  Seems likely you were headed back that way when that asshole Simon ambushed you all.”

“Negan,” Marlowe said.  “Tell me what we’re doing.”

“Not _we_ , Clementine.   _You_. Let’s get Gabriel into the other vehicle,” Negan said.  

Two men opened the back passenger door and pulled the priest out.  Murphy took his place.

Regina opened Eugene’s door and gestured for him to get out.  She sat down next to Marlowe. “Hi. Long time, no see, Doc.”

“What’s going on?”  Marlowe asked. “Negan, _look at me_.”

Negan breathed out loudly.  

“ _Negan!_ ”

“It has to be this way, Clementine.  I’m sorry.”

“No.  Don’t…”

“Don’t make this harder.  Believe me, this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”

Marlowe unbuckled her seat belt and tried to climb to the front.  Murphy and Regina held her.

“I’m sorry.  I wasn’t strong enough to do the right thing with Lucille.  I _am_ with you.”

“Please, you said I was coming with you.”

“You did.  Now are paths are diverging. Laura, I trust you and yours will keep her safe.”

Laura said, “Of course.”

“Regina?  Murphy?”

Both Saviors answered in the affirmative.

“I’ll holding y’all to it.  This is _the_ most important job anyone has today.  Keep her like you would your own kin.”

Negan never looked back at Marlowe.  He got out of the SUV quickly, shutting the door and tapping the hood with his hand.

Marlowe cried and screamed as Laura pulled out of the convoy and down a dirt road leading through the woods.  

At the end of the tiny road was a sedan.  

“Where are you headed after this?”  Regina asked.

Laura turned and looked at the woman.  “I have the coordinates. We’re going to have a lovely road trip, me and the doctor.”

***

Marlowe went willingly into the smaller car, defeated. In the backseat were two large pieces of luggage.  

“We’ve got everything we need in this car,”  Laura said. “Food, ammo, clothes, toiletries. Vitamins.”

They drove for another couple of miles.

Laura shifted gears.  “You’re not going to say anything?”

“Damn him.”

“Yeah, _damn him_. He’s risking everything to make sure you’re safe and, instead of being grateful, you’re being a little bitch about it.”

“I should have gone with him.”

“No.  That’s a really bad idea, and you know it.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one, it’s like going into the battlefield exposed, without armor. His weakness would be exploited, and his Achilles heel would be right there in front of everyone.  I don’t think anyone could focus on neutralizing a target if everything they love is somehow in the line of fire.”

“Why all the cloak and dagger bullshit?”

“The fewer people that know, the better. He trusts me. I may be the _only_ person he trusts.  Right now I need you to trust me, and trust him.  You try to run or something stupid, and you risk all of us.  You do understand that, right?”

“I am coming to that conclusion.”

“Good.  Eugene and Gabriel think we’re headed to that army base.  Regina and Murphy think it’s a double cross to Haircut and the priest, in case they squeal, and that we’re actually going to meet Negan behind Alexandria later.  There’s a subdivision a few miles out.”

“So where _are_ we going?”

“A safe house.  There’s a beach in Maryland I used to go to when I was a kid.  Not even Negan knows where. Couple of hours from here.”

“How will he find us later?”

“I left instructions in a pre-arranged place.  As long as he doesn’t lose his bat, he doesn’t lose the coordinates.  All he has to do is heat up the wood, or pour some bleach or detergent on it.”

“Invisible ink? He let you deface Lucille?”

“No.  He did it himself, then threw the paper into the furnace.  He’s a might bit paranoid these days.”

“He should be.  I’m still not convinced Eugene, and maybe some others, aren’t going to pull a double cross.”

“Negan’s a grown ass man.  The only thing we can do is to hang back and trust that he knows what he’s doing.”

“He makes stupid mistakes.”

“That he does, but this is one time we have to stand down.”

Marlowe looked at Laura.

“I know.  It’s hard.  I’m pissed I’m in the Babysitters Club rather than out there, having my men’s six, as you’d say.  I keep telling myself that my job right now is the most important. That's he's counting on me above everyone else.”

“The doctors around here do seem to have a short shelf life.”

Laura laughed.  “Your job description doesn’t enter into it.”  

“How do we know Rick and crew won’t find us?”

“We’re headed _away_ from all the action.”

***

Almost an hour into the trip, Laura’s radio crackled to life.

_“Laura?”_

“Laura here.  Regina?”

_“Yeah.  You guys should turn around.”_

Laura looked at Marlowe, who nodded.  She pulled to the side of the road. “Why?”

_“It’s over.”_

Laura and Marlowe stared at each other in the silence.

Marlowe’s stomach turned over as she grabbed the radio.  “Regina, it’s Marlowe. What’s going on?”

 _“Doc.”_ Regina’s inhale was audible over the radio.   _“No good way to tell you.”_

“Try.”

_“Just turn around and go give yourselves up.  It’s over.”_

Laura leaned over and pushed the talk button.  “Regina, what the _fuck_?”

_“It’s Negan.”_

Marlowe grabbed Laura’s arm.

_“Marlowe, it’s over.  He got his throat cut.”_


End file.
